


Not in Australia Anymore

by JustKeepWriting



Category: TF2 - Fandom, Team Fortress 2
Genre: Family, Friendship, get ready for a load of sillyness, nothing like bonding yo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7640596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustKeepWriting/pseuds/JustKeepWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something went wrong with the Respawn. </p><p>Instead of delivering the RED team back to the battlefield, somehow it transported to an alternate reality where they exist as video game characters, known as 'Team Fortress 2'. Of all places, they happen to crash into Holly O' Sullivan's life, inside her apartment. When she bought her new home, she certainly didn't ask for nine dysfunctional roommates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Respawn Malfunction

**~Chapter One~**

Engineer was no stranger to the Respawn machine to acting up time to time. Malfunctions would cause his contraption to revive members of the RED team varying from ending up in the a Chuck E' Cheese to some zoo in an Australian city. Just tiny slip-ups, that don't wreck the RED team's daily routine in the battle.

"Aw shoot!" Engineer mutters, wiping sweat from his brow. Smoke puffs in the air, and the machine in front of him gives a pitiful sputter. "Settle down girl," He pats the heated metal surface of the metal machine, giving a low chuckle. Squatting, he examines an array of complicated wires and buttons that would look like a mess to any outsider, but to Engineer, he could understand it perfectly well like reading a textbook. Clicking his teeth, Engineer takes out some tweezer-like tool, and ties the ends of a yellow and green wire together.

"I hope that'll fix it." Engineer wipes some oil on his overall, and slams shut the tiny door of the machine. It purrs like a cat, followed by another pathetic sputter. Engineer frowns, rubbing the surface of his bald head and adjusting his goggles. It's been a long time since the Respawn engine acted up this way. Come to think of it, the machine has been acting pretty strange ever since the Administrator provided him with new equipment to upgrade their technology…

"Mmf, hmmfh, ppffhhhh HMMMM!" Pyro exclaims, popping its head in the doorway, waving its hands in a very animated way. To any other RED team member, all they would have gotten out of the Pyro's sentence is a bunch of muffled sounds. But to Engineer, its words is as clear as day. Giving a sigh and cracking his stiff neck, Engineer stands up and greets Pyro with a warm smile.

"Heh, rhubarb pie for tonight? Ya always know what lightens up my day."

Pyro bobs its head vigorously, and despite the gas mask dressed over its head, Engineer could see a happy shine in its eyes. It skips out of the room, on its merry way to the dining room. Engineer strides after, and pauses to look at the Respawn machine. It continues to emit a sound of both a purr and offbeat sputters. The red light shining out of the engine flickers time to time. Something is definitely up with the machine.

"I'll report it tomorrow." Engineer mutters, flicking off the lights. Afterall, there is a rhubarb pie baked by Pyro waiting to be eaten, and there wasn't a chance in hell he would miss out on such a treat. Not to mention, another long day of fighting against the BLU team tomorrow...Aside from the small malfunctions the Respawn machine was having, Engineer is sure it wouldn't throw a wrench into their battle tomorrow.

This one lazy slip-up, unknown to Engineer, is the catalyst of the RED team's troubles. How would he have expected a disastrous malfunction in the Respawn machine? Even he was not aware that the Respawn is capable of transporting him and his team somewhere very, _very_ far away from Australia.

* * *

 

Out of all of the members of BLU team, Spy suspected he may be the only strategically competent person out of all the buffoons for his colleagues. He however, gave up a long time ago trying to organize his chaotic team and planning strategies for their never-ending war with the RED team. Despite their many talents, unfortunately, listening was not one of them. But for the past month, BLU team was stuck on a humiliating losing streak. And frankly, Spy was fed up with it.

Glaring at the folder delivered from the Administrator, he slams it shut. Defending the Control Points. An easy task, but once again his team would just mess up something so simple. Clicking a lighter to his cigarette, Spy takes a long drag of a smoke. Wisps of grey smoke curls out of the end of his cig, and Spy stares thoughtfully through the grayness. Outside, he can hear the screaming matches of Soldiers in the hallways. He rolls his eyes, inhaling a deep breath of smoke.

If there was one thing he envied about the RED team, at least they only owned one Soldier. Here in the BLU base, multiple clones of Soldiers littered the place, marching up and down like nobody's business.

Massaging his forehead, Spy flicks the ashes of his cigarette into an ash tray. Once, just once, he would like to win. He was never one to take action, but at this point, his influence is greatly needed for his team. _What is zhe best way of defending zhe control points, efficiently and quickly?_ He glances at a map of the RED team's base, taking account of each detail. He exhales a long funnel of smoke, deep in thought.

_Zhere are only nine of zem. Zhere are dozens of us. What possibly gives zhem zhe upper-and?_

Spy squints at the map, waving some smoke out of his eyes.

 _Zhe Respawn point…_ Spy does quick some quick calculations in his head. Getting the speed of his thoughts, Spy paces back and forth in his room. The fireplaces crackles with orange life, the only light source inside his room. It takes approximately 7 minutes for a member to respawn...so… Spy stops in his tracks, lips curling into a smile. Maybe he can use the help of his idiotic team members after all. Spinning on his heels, Spy mentally prepares himself for a trip to Demoman's room.

* * *

 

"Coming through chucklenuts!"

"Outta the way, you MAGGOTS!"

"Slow down, ye crazed dopes!"

Scout and Soldier whoop at the top of their lungs, followed closely behind by a lumbering hungover Demoman. They are plowing their way through the stationed BLU Soldiers and Scouts like three bowling balls. Bullets fly through the air, left and right. Red dust contaminates the air, from all of the running and kicking. The unforgiving sun beats down on everyone in the battlefield. Nevertheless, this looks like yet another victorious day for the RED team.

Hearing the screams of their offensive teammates in the distance, this signals the rest of the RED team to move through the field, closer to the BLU control point, hidden within a storage unit. Scout speeds ahead, glancing left and right for any sentries. His ears blocks out the hollering of Soldier and the cries of his teammates in the background, trying to detect the beeps of a sentry. Hearing nothing of the sort, Scout allows a cocky grin.

"All clear!" He whoops to the team. Inside of the shed, he can hear the shouts and yelling of the BLU team, panicked and disoriented. "End of the line for you losers!" Scout exclaims, throwing his body against the door. This only results in him smacking pathetically against the metal surface, leaving him with a nasty forming bruise on the elbow. Scout moans, rubbing his elbow.

"Idiot." Spy materializes into plain sight revolver in hand. The rest of the RED team rejoin, all nine members surrounding the shed. "Strange how zhe BLU team gathered inside zhe Control Point," Spy comments to his teammates.

"A bunch of weak cowards! Not charging into battlefield with their brothers, THAT IS PATRIOTIC TREASON IN THE NAME OF WARFARE!" Soldier pounds his rocket launcher against the red ground, dust flying in the air with each rough movement.

"Locked door, eh?" Demonman glimpses at the metal door with his one visible eye. "These dossers aren't even tryin' anymore, arr' they?!" He clicks the red grenades in his hand to life. The RED team takes the cue to move out of Demoman's warpath, quick for cover. Giving a mad laugh, he chucks the grenades at the door, diving out of the way in the nick of time.

KABOOM! Red dust flies in the air, into an angry cloud. Remnants of the door skid across the ground, just useless metal scraps.

RED team rushes inside, BLU control point in sight. As the red dust clears up, Spy hangs behind, surveying the area. As much as he could rely on his team's war tactics, something was a bit...off in this particular fight. Capturing the control point is no big task - but the enemy made no effort to give everything they got in defending the base. Why would they hole themselves up with the Control Point, waiting for them to arrive like a bunch of sitting ducks? The RED team does not take note of this odd change, storming inside the Control Point.

It was only a bit too little and too late, when Spy finally notices the metal plates of the Control Point altered, for there was an apparent space between the plates. And in this space, are dozens of flickering and beeping BLU bombs.

Spy could not even cry out a warning, cloak himself, or dive for cover, when Soldier jumps onto the booby trapped Control Point. With a deafening explosion, crumbling of the shed collapsing in on itself, and a violent flash of blue light, all goes black.

* * *

 

Holly O' Sullivan knows her apartment was no castle. The paintjob of the studio once used for dance lessons, is peeling away and stained with nasty brown stains from various leaks. The floor is a field of splinters, forcing her and Allan to wear flip flops inside the apartment 24/7. All of the lights are removed from the studio, so all they could rely on are three cheap store bought lamps, candles, and natural sunlight pouring from the single open window on the ceiling. Water turns off after 10 pm, and turns back on 7 pm with only freezing cold water. And the suffocating smell of curry is drenched into the walls, the spicy Indian dish burning Holly's nostrils.

But Holly would be damned if she could pass up her English high school teacher's, Mr. Khan, offer of renting the dance studio for a mere nine hundred fifty dollars. She nearly had a heart attack hearing such a cheap price for a big empty apartment. Holly pounces on this chance in a lifetime like a tiger, because Holly O' Sullivan is not a picky woman.

There are some perks. Holly muses, slump in her five year old black rolling chair. It is worn down from years of being sat upon, taped and patched up here and there, the wheels giving a loud squeak whenever moved around, and a faint Dorito smell that can never seem to come off of the chair. But Holly can never find it in her heart to abandon her old friend who has served her for years. She rolls in the chair, it squeaking back and forth.

She glances at her notebook, her chicken-scratch handwriting filling up the blank pages.

_Pros:_

_1\. Free Indian food from Mr. Khan's restaurant. Even if it can be too spicy or too salty sometimes._

_2\. Huge space_

_3\. House is located around Little Italy. I can always wander around the streets and stare at the food, because it is so damned expensive. Nice music plays from the band, I suppose._

_4._

Holly groans when she finds her list couldn't even go up to ten. She leans her head back, looking at a brown splotch splattered on the ceiling. Pushing her glasses up the ridge of her nose, Holly glances wearily over her poor excuse of an apartment. Two blow up beds are shoved in a corner. One covered in plain red sheets and the other decorated with Spiderman themed ones. Hardly anything decorating the walls or the floor, save for ugly stains. A wooden desk she bought at a yard sale, her out of date Windows computer, and her trusty rolling chair. The single window designed into the old dance studio shows the beautiful scenery of a plain brick wall.

She stares at her feet, feeling very mopey and all. It certainly didn't help Allan's opinion of their new apartment was...less than accepting.

"For God's sake, I can't even afford another lamp, at this point!" Holly shakes her head, feeling her hair shake back and forth. Having enough of her terrible mood, Holly flips open the computer and presses the power button. Might as well waste away my life on the internet. She thinks, giving a deep sigh. The screen flickers to life, revealing a blue screen. Holly types away her password and username without so much looking at the keyboard. Do-do-do! The computer sings its little jingle whenever Holly turns it on. Straightening her glasses once again, Holly merely glances at the bouncing email icon. She quickly presses 'QUIT' for the application. For God's sake, no more emails.

Before proceeding with her activity on the computer, Holly scribbles something else in her notebook.

_4\. Free wi-fi from Mr. Khan. Thank any god above._

Thank God the old man was kind enough to let her piggy back on his Wi-Fi. How much of his kindness could she actually repay? Certainly not now, since her paycheck hasn't came in and she's still stuck in the "starving artist's" lifestyle. Oh, how she hated that word, starving artist. If she had to be frank, yes she is an artist, and yes she is close to starving. But as thankful as she is for Mr. Khan's kindness, Holly wasn't sure if she could take anymore leftover curry.

A hand on her cheek, Holly opens up Steam. At least there's one thing she could vent her frustrations without any stress, whatsoever. Team Fortress 2. Then again, it is the only game in her library, aside from 'Hatoful Boyfriend' a two year old present that her friend bought as a joke. Why a game was created to purposefully date pigeons was beyond her. Wearily smiling, Holly clicks 'PLAY.'

TF2. Entertaining and absolutely free. Holly did like free stuff.

She didn't consider herself quite a gamer - she only discovered TF2 by mere chance. Just scrolling to Youtube one day, and found a funny little animation series centered around introducing the members of TF2. The animation Holly finds endearing - cartoonish and blockish, it works out for the Comedic Sociopathy of TF2. Which reminds her, she had to find out what sort of program people use to animated TF2 shorts. The animator-geek inside her could not resist, afterall.

Drifting out of her thoughts, Holly frowns to see TF2 still loading to open up. She leans forward, staring at the screen blankly. Something pops up on her screen.

**TF2 Application being processed and updated - PROCEED?**

**ACCEPT DENY**

Holly squints at the screen, reading the pop-up. Shrugging, she clicks the highlighted ACCEPT option.

Once Holly presses ACCEPT, the screen freezes. Then, it shuts down.

"Huh?" Holly clicks the power button feverishly, bewildered. A heat emits from the computer. "What the heck…? Don't tell me I have to get a new one. I can't afford that!" The screen flashes back to life. This time, the screen is completely red, bold black letters sprawled across the screen reading, 'LOADING, PLEASE WAIT…' Holly sits back in her chair, frowning suspiciously. Sure her computer can randomly break down and shut off at times since it is so old, but this has never happened before...Something else pops up on her screen.

**INITIATE TRANSFER?**

**ACCEPT DENY**

All there is on Holly's mind is hoping to dear God she didn't need to buy a computer. So, without thinking deeper on making a choice, Holly clicks ACCEPT once again. That is when true hell breaks loose. A disturbing whine-siren like noise activate from her computer. The red screen shines brighter than ever. Holly jumps back, covering her ears. Her computer vibrates, numbers running up and down across the screen.

The same bright red light takes up her vision…

...And when Holly opens her eyes, she sees the last thing she would've last expected in her twenty-six years of living.

On the floor, lies crumpled a bunch of hulking and armed men suited for the military. Some of them groan, others cursed in a foreign tongue, but all in all, these strange men that have invaded her home were unconscious. Looking closely, Holly realizes with silent terror and confusion that they looked liked...the characters from TF2 itself. Her eyes flit back and forth from body to body. It's all too familiar - trademark baseball on Scout, eyepatch and beanie on the Demoman, the hulking mass of the huge Heavy, skewed glasses and pristine nurse uniform of the Medic, hard helmet of the Soldier, yellow construction hat and red goggles of the Mechanic, the masked shapeless uniform of the Pyro, and the silly cowboy hat of the Sniper…

Holly scoots away, breathing hard and keeping her eyes trained on the unconscious men. She bumps against the kitchen cabinet. Keeping her eyes glued on the mercenaries, she manages to grasp her hand on a frying pan. An insufficient weapon, but something to defend herself with nevertheless. Tiptoeing closer to the pile of men, she processes her options. Call the police? Run out of the apartment? Throw the men out?

Her thoughts a buzz, Holly shoots down each idea popping up in her head. Amidst the panic overwhelming her head, questions sprout out left and right. Where did these men come from? Why are they dressed like the cast of TF2? How did they get in her apartment?

Looking over the men, she sees, much to her relief, that they are all unarmed of any firearms, save for their melee weapons.

Should I confiscate them…? Holly ponders, frying pan still clutched in her hands.

Something taps her fingers. "Ah, Mademoiselle - ?"

Startled and acting purely on reflexes, Holly spins around, and smacks Spy's face square on the head with her frying pan.

The thin, wiry body of the Spy falls to the floor, slack.

Holly freezes, frying pan still raised in the air. She lets out a little squeak, shocked. Okay, so now she has nine unconscious men littering her apartment. And Allan's day at school is nearly over. Great. Just fan-freaking great.


	2. Not In Australia Anymore

**~Chapter Two~**

Scout tried his best to avoid death in battle as much as he could. Even though there was the insurance of Respawn, it is the exact thing Scout wants to avoid in the first place.

If Scout had to describe the experience of Respawning...one hell of a crack trip. Not quite dead and not quite alive. Being in the process of a Respawn was...freaking suffocating. As if Scout is thrown into a void, the epitome of Null and Nil, however saved by being held back by a single strand of humanity saving him from a fate possibly worse than death. Worse thing is, Scout is hyper aware of _everything._ Aware of the battle raging in reality as he is stuck in limbo, aware that he is drowning in pure oblivion, aware that the void is trying to drag him into its inevitable embrace.

Yeah, lack of better word, Scout fucking _despises_ Respawning.

Spinning through the Nothing, Scout gasps awake, back to reality. Sunlight aches his eyes, the rough surface of wood digs into his bottom, and a funky spicy smell invades his nostrils. Scout takes another gasp, thankful for air and lungs and his physical body, thankful to not be trapped in Respawn. Memories are scrambled, Scout struggling to make sense of it. Certainly didn't help that along with Scout's irking confusion, aching body, and stiff arms, a pounding headache is drilling into his skull, another side effect of Respawn.

Groggily, Scout tries to stand up.

"Ughh!" He groans, his body held down by a ton. Eyes finally adjusting, Scout sees that he is not in the familiar white and sterile Re-supply room. Instead, he is in some sort of dance studio. Mirrors line up the wall, reflecting him and his teammates. Flashing a smile at his reflection, he smirks. Heh, he still has those pearly whites. And then Scout realizes in that instance he is in _very_ close proximity of the Pyro and Spy. Great, his two most favorite people in the world.

"What the actual -" He tries to jump to his feet, and Scout realizes in another instance he is bound and tied to his two most favorite people in the entire world. Fat freaking chance. "Duct tape?!" He exclaims, straining against his imprisonments. The thick silver tape is wrapped around his torso, imprisoning him with Pyro and Spy. Glancing wildly back and forth, Scout quickly realizes that all of the other mercenaries are bound in duct tape like him. _Just what I wanted to wake up to. Being freaking tied and bounded by duct tape to all of these jackasses. Fucking-tastic._

Looking around, Scout sees most of the RED team is waking up. Pyro is already wide awake, greeting Scout with a, "Hmph scrff!"

Scout only responds with a shudder, turning away. Sneering at his left, he sees Spy is still stuck in Dreamland. Wanting to annoy him, Scout forcefully nudges him. Spy's head rolls on his shoulders, limp and uncoordinated. His mouth is hanging open in an ungainly and un-Spy like way. Dry blood is stained on Spy's mask and mouth. Scout lets a light hiss escapes his mouth. _Christ, did he get ran over by a train or what?_ Just was Scout was about to loudly complain about the current situation he happens to be stuck in, a woman's voice breaks the silence.

"Ahem."

The mercenaries cease their alarmed murmurs, hearing this foreign voice. Scout twists his head farther to where he heard the woman. There she stands, staring down at all nine of them, eyes wide, mouth agape, and a frying pan clutch in her hands. Thick red rimmed glasses slide down the bridge of her nose, and dark brown eyes flit back and forth. She stares at them, looking as if she wanted to say something, but nothing comes out.

"Ehhh, lady, you mind helping us out here?" Scout flashes his best teasing smile, and throws in a wink. He can hear a muffled groan from Pyro beside him. Scout ignores the judgmental glares of his other teammates. _Don't flirt too much now Scouty-boy. Gotta stay steady with Miss Pauling._ "Cuz it looks like we're sorta tied up in this situation, know what I'm sayin'?"

The woman snaps out of her stupor, and hearing Scout speak, she shoots a glare. "Don't make me smack you with this frying pan like your friend over there." She points the pan at the direction of Scout, Pyro, and Spy.

"Eh?!" Scout scrunches up his face in confusion. His slick charm should've worked. He looks at the still unconscious Spy and back at the stranger. "Wait - wait a second. PFFT, you knocked out the French grouch with a _frying pan?_ That's fucking classic!" Scout hoots, not being able to contain his howling laughter. The other team members, hearing Scout's racket, look at his direction. Their eyes widen in surprise, seeing that the woman's threat is true. Sniper joins in Scout's laughing fit, chuckling quietly.

"Mother of _God_!" Soldier cries out. He thrashes against the duct taped bonds. "This is just like the Battle of 1899! The Mole People captured our American boys and imprisoned them with _duct tape!_ "

"You weren't even born yet, ye crazy bloke!" Demoman gruffly points out.

"Who are you?!" Interrupts the woman, her voice shaking. The frying pan is close to her, and she is gripping it so tight, her knuckles are white against her tanned skin. As ridiculous her improvised weapon, the woman is holding onto it like it's her protector. "W-where did you come from? Why are dressed up like the TF2 cast?"

"Whaddya talking about lady?" Scout says, not understanding the woman's panic. Then again, he and the others did crash into her place instead of Respawning at the Resupply room. Funny, he doesn't think the Respawn is supposed to mess up this badly…

The woman closes her eyes, rubbing her forehead. Turning her back from the mercenaries, she starts muttering to herself. Scout strains to hear her. "...C'mon Holly, pull yourself together...think...call police…?"

While the woman, Holly if Scout heard her name right, the RED team murmurs among themselves.

"Vhere is Sascha?" Heavy growls.

"He's right, yeh know. Where are ouah weapons?" Sniper murmurs.

"Engineer, vat do you zuppoze ven vrong vith the machine?" Questions the Medic.

"I dunno, but I reckon we have to settle down and not frighten the little lady over there." Engineer suggests to the group, still as cool as a cucumber.

"NONSENSE!" Soldier booms, not bothering to whisper. He probably doesn't even know how to keep his voice 'quiet.' "We are trapped in the walls of the enemy's territory! The real question is if we can survive or DIE?!"

"Aw, can off it Sol, yeh giving me one hell of a headache." Demo says, sentence followed by a burp. "'Scuse me."

While his teammates are arguing among each other, Scout looks around, and sees a pile of their melee weapons shoved in the corner. Their guns are completely missing though.

"Hey! Hey lady! Holly's yah name, is it?" Scout says as loud as possible among the bickering of the other men. The woman, Holly, freezes, shoulders going stiff when she heard Scout address her. "Where didja put our guns?"

Holly turns around, stiff. "You didn't have them when you appeared here."

"Appear? Can ya explain that for us?" Engineer asks, voice steady.

"I-I don't know! You just - appeared - out of nowhere from my computer!" Holly points at a direction. Scout looks at the point where she's pointing, seeing a completely toasted mini-TV - probably the 'computer' Holly's referring to. Whatever the hell that is. "I have no idea who you guys are or how you came here, but you better have one good heck of an explanation when I -" _Beep, beep! Beep, beep!_ Holly freezes in the middle of her rambling sentence. She lifts her arm, a watch strapped to it.

Her eyes bulge when she reads the time. "Shoot! I'm late!" Dropping the frying pan with a careless thud, Holly flies for the door in a blur. _Slam!_ The door shuts, the floorboards of the studio creaking with the sudden force. The mercenaries are quiet for a second, not sure what to make of Holly's rude and unexplained disappearance.

"Crap!" She shouts, back in the studio with another slam of the door. The entire RED team gives a jump. All fear Holly once possessed, is replaced with a wild frenzy, as she runs into the studio, running back and forth. "Keys! Phone!" Like a storm, she rummages through the drawers of her desks, not caring if anything falls to the floor or if she's leaving one hell of a mess. "Uhm, helmet, helmet! Ugh, where did I put it?!" She spins around, feverish.

"I reckon it's over there, yonder on the kitchen counter." Engineer helpfully points out.

Holly spins on her heels, and practically leaps to the counter. A red helmet is next to the sink, like Engineer pointed out. "Oh, thanks!" Shoving the helmet on her head and gathering her things, Holly storms out of the door, with a resounding slam. Scout stares at the door, almost expecting for the flighty woman to return.

Indeed she does, when door swings open, Holly's head popping through the doorway.

"Okay, I'm late and all, but you guys, uhm, better stay put! Just - don't move! Don't make lots of noise! Uhm!" She blinks rapidly, struggling to find words. "Yeah! Stay there!" _Slam!_ The door shuts, with another deafening thud. _Click!_ Goes the locks on the door, probably Holly locking it.

Heavy's baritone laugh fills the stunned silence of the RED team. "Hehehe. Leetle woman iz very funny. Reminds Heavy of sisteers."

"Funny or not, she tied us up in this damned duct tape!" Sniper points out.

"Don't worry gentlemen."

All heads snap to the direction of Spy's composed voice.

"Wha?!" Scout gives a shout, seeing the place where Spy was once sitting is empty. The duct tape wrapped around him is sliced neatly down the center. Spy is standing up, straight and tall. "Are you just gonna stand there or help us?!" Scout says, getting over his surprise.

Spy sneers, his butterfly knife clutched in hand. "I think I will keep you just where you are."

Scout sticks a middle finger, pointed heavenward.

"Likewise." Spy says dryly, and proceeds to cut away the duct tape.

"At least I'm not the one who's been gobsmacked by a frying pan. A fucking frying pan, Spy. Who knew that was your ultimate weakness?!"

This earns laughter out of the other RED teammates.

Spy sends a glare worthy of stabbing. " _Merci._ All of you. Kindly fuck yourselves."

* * *

Once Spy helped the RED team out of the duct tape, they sit in a circle, poorly matching the meetings they have back at the base. Pyro called dibs on the rolling chair, and is wheeling back and forth in the background, having the time of his life. Scout eyes him enviously, stuck with sitting on the kitchen counter. As usual, the RED team is arguing among themselves.

"...BLU team set a trap."

"Those closet cases! We oughta burn their bridges down, take an eye for an eye, GET US SOME AMERICAN STYLED VENGEANCE!"

"I didn't know they had the balls _and_ brains to do it."

"If you imbeciles have not ran in there like a bunch of lunatics, this wouldn't be happening!"

"Now now, don't blame our careless calculations, Spah." Engineer raises a hand for the others to case their blabbering. More or less, everybody quiets down, aside from Pyro, who is spinning around in the rolling chair paying no mind to the conference. "Funny thing is folks, I never actually calculated the consequences if there was some sorta event happened where the entire RED team gets killed at once." Engineer taps his chin, eyes unreadable behind the red goggles. "I s'pose the Respawn machine couldn't-a handle so many of us dyin' in one go, it malfunctioned."

"Hey, come to think of it, where the hell did the machine send us to?" Scout speaks up, arms crossed.

"I reckon we're not in Australia anymore." Engineer chuckles, despite the mildly alarming situation.

"Wot makes ya say that?" Sniper asks.

"Naw. I'm just pulling ya leg. I have no idea where we are. I just always wanted to say that." Laughs the Engineer.

Sniper gives him the stink-eye of the century.

"In that case, let's just get the hell outta here!" Scout jumps to his feet, prepared to sprint out of the door.

"Wait just a sec, Scout." Engineer says. "As much as I don't wanna intrude on this lady's home, there must be some reason why the Respawn took us here."

Spy snorts from his corner, where he is standing faraway from everyone else. "You want us to sit here like a bunch idiots until she comes back?"

"You're just cranky because she beat you up with a cooking utensil!"

"I will wring that scrawny neck when you are sleeping -!"

"Settle down y'all, if ya kill each other, who knows where the Respawn will take you next?" Engineer shakes his head, tired of Spy and Scout's never-ending verbal spars. "I think we should stay put here until she comes back. Who knows where in tarnation the machine took us?"

"Cowardly MAGGOT!" Cries out Soldier, waving his melee weapon, the shovel, in his hands. "The enemy has already taken our guns and our pride! We must charge into battle and take her down by surprise while we still can!" Before anybody could stop Soldier, he rampages out of the door.

"I'm not chasin' after that bastard." Sniper says, tipping his hat down and leaning against the wall. The other RED members murmur, assent, not wanting to take the burden of dragging Soldier back to the studio.

"Whatever. You old chucklenuts just stick around here. I'ma have some fun out there!" And Scout was gone in a blink of an eye.

Spy doesn't even bother to say anything to the team, and strolls out of the door.

This leaves the remaining six in an awkward silence, save for Pyro's joyful muffled screams as he spins around in the rolling chair.

"Heavy needs to eat and recharge." The Heavy announces, and lumbers over to the refrigerator.

* * *

Holly pedals, navigating the sharp turns and twisted paths of Little Italy, New York City. Turning right, she narrowly dodges a mass of people walking across the street. She huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. _Another con of our new apartment: too many freaking tourists._ Gripping the handles of her bike, Holly speeds through a red light, skillfully dodging pedestrians. She ignores some curses in Chinese and glares from the people, weaving her way through blockades of cars.

 _God, I hope Allan won't kill me over this. She hates it when I'm late._ Holly sucks her cheeks in, strong gusts of wind drying her eyes. The bike rumbles, from the cobblestoned and cracked filled road. But Holly's six year old bike has been through worse travels, so cycling through the chaotic streets of downtown Little Italy means nothing to Holly.

_Honk! Honk! Hoooooonk!_

"Christ!" Holly swerves in the nick of time, out of harm's way from an impeding SUV van. The rearview mirror barely misses her arm. If she so much as tipped over to her right, she would fall smack on the moving vehicle. "Watch where you're driving, bozo!" She shouts, glaring at the van moving out of sight. Muttering to herself, "I swear, if stress doesn't kill me first, a freaking car might as well do the job!" Huffing, Holly spins the pedals, turning right of the Green House Cafe. Packs of children move along the sidewalk, chattering and laughing with each other. Parents pull along kids, trying to pull them into their cars, talking to them about their day at school, or coaxing them with the promise of ice cream.

Holly screeches her bike to a halt, gripping the brakes. The rubber's harsh contact with the cemented ground made a cringeworthy sound effect. Kicking the metal bar down to support her bike, Holly runs to the familiar red doors of Allan's school. Painted above the doors in golden letters reads: _Robinson Charter School._ A woman in neon green pops out against the gray colored stairs leading to the doors. A couple of children are sitting on the stairs, waiting for their parents. Holly straightens her glasses, scanning the area for Allan.

She runs towards the neon clad woman, and Holly swears her heart beats faster even though it already is beating like crazy from pedaling all the way from Uptown to Downtown.

"H-hey Mira! Ah - ooo-wee!" Holly takes a huge breath, and squats, gasping for air. She hates how her hair sticks to her sweaty forehead and how her sweater is a heated cage. Fog clouds her vision, and Holly huffs, taking off her glasses. Stupid prespiration and stupid condensation. Holly looks up, to see Mira peering down at her and her eyebrows knitted together in concern. Sunshine reflects off her bronze saturn shaped earrings.

"Holly? Wow, you look worn out!"

"Just in the day's work of - uhm what's it called? Ah yeah, bicycling. Gotta get the exercise. Uhm." Holly checks the area once again, feeling hotter by the second. From the heat, her panic, Mira, or her pending frustration, Holly will not deal with it for another second. She rips off her helmet, setting it carelessly on the ground. Good, at least she could feel some air on her sweat-soaked head. "Allan. Where's Allan?"

Mira raises her eyebrows. She glances at her clipboard, eyes flitting back and forth between page and Holly.

"Didn't you…" Mira turns the clipboard for Holly to see, pointing at a yellow post it. "You gave Allan permission to walk home, haven't you?" Holly, eyes bulging and teeth clenched, reads the post it. ' _Allan can walk home today. - Holly O' Sullivan._ '

 _That little - !_ Holly breathes sharply, putting a hand on her forehead.

"Ya know Mira, with Allan's many talents and weird hobbies, did I tell you another hobby she loves? An uncanny ability to forge signatures."

Mira's expression shifts from puzzlement to horror, dawning upon her.

"I am so sorry Holly -"

"I have a feeling where I can find her. Yeah, yeah, it's fine Mira. Just fine."

Holly turns, and jumps down the steps, sprinting to her bike in a blur.

"Wait, Holly!"

"I said it was fine Mira!"

"You're forgetting your brain bucket!" Mira raises the familiar red object, with a well meaning smile.

Holly smacks her head. In a blink of an eye, she rejoins Mira on the steps.

"Thanks, Mira."

"Hey, no prob. It's okay to stress out. Trust me, I understand. Taking care of a kid can be pretty wild." Mira presses something into Holly's other hand. Holly looks down, and smiles sheepishly to see a water bottle. "Don't forget to stay hydrated too. You can be so flaky, sometimes I think you'd forget to take care of yourself!" Mira chides gently, and gives a quick hug. Holly's heart speeds up, being in close proximity with Mira for just a few seconds.

"T-t-thanks. Haha." _Christ Holly, that was a weak line._ Tensing up, Holly puts the helmet on her head, water bottle in hand. Practically leaping to her bike, Holly puts the bottle in her basket, and glances back at Mira. Flushing, she waves. Mira smiles encouragingly, raising two thumbs.

"Hang in there!" Shouts Mira, as Holly pedals her way out of the school street.


	3. Swiping the Intel

**~Chapter Three~**

The Control Point is in shambles thanks to the insane explosion, courtesies of the Demoman.

What used to be the shed containing the point, now is a mess of debris and useless junk. Demoman coughs, dusty air and burnt ashes getting into his artificial lungs. He blinks wildly, single eye tearing up at the dirt contaminating it. He looks back and forth, surveying the area, grenade launcher close in hand. Behind him creeps a couple of Scouts and a Pyro, just as cautious as him. Only BLU Spy strides ahead, burning away at a cigarette as usual. Demoman squints his good eye at Spy, wondering what could make his shady co-worker so sure of himself that such an insane plan would work.

Dust finally clearing the air, Demoman can see his handiwork clearly. Blood paints the dusty ground. Some bits and pieces of skin, internal organs, maybe even a limb are stuck to the debris. Such a grisly sight would unsettle any other person. At least, somene who fits the definition of normal. Demoman stops at the sight of his RED counterpart, who is pinned under a wooden beam. Half of RED Demoman's face is bashed in, revealing some of his skull and brain matter. BLU Demoman compares it to the sight of a squashed tomato.

Meanwhile, the BLU Pyro and Scouts are roaming around, shooting and burning any corpse they saw, just to make extra sure all of the RED team is left for dead.

BLU Spy idly stands by, looking almost bored.

Demoman glances over to him, scowling. "Ah, I can't believe it. But bludy hell, yer madman plan actually worked!"

Spy smirks, and tosses the cigarette to the ground. He slams his heel on it, rubbing it into the dirt. Smoke trails out of his mouth.

"So? Wat is th' next part of yer plan?"

He waits for an answer from Spy. Satisfied seeing the RED team fully and totally dead, the Scouts and Pyro rejoin Demoman, looking expectedly at Spy for the next instructions. Spy does not immediately answer. Instead, he fiddles with his invisibility watch, clicking some buttons and squinting at the screen. Demoman watches, impatience bubbling. If he had to be frank, he never _liked_ the BLU Spy. He was the newest addition of the BLU team, but the BLU mercenaries grumble in secret how they thought Spy's presence was unneeded.

Too secretive, too smug, and too tight-lipped. Doesn't belong to Offense class because he doesn't want to fight in the open. Doesn't belong to Defense because he will bail the moment he thinks the enemy is invading their base. Doesn't belong to Support (despite the Administrator sorting BLU Spy into the class), because all Spy cares for is himself.

It certainly didn't help that RED team had a Spy as well, _the_ original Spy. Both Spies were equal pain in the asses, if the RED and BLU team could land on an agreement about their team members.

"Seven minutes." Spy finally says, turning to the direction of an unprotected RED base. Demoman glances to the Scouts and Pyro, who look just as equally puzzled as him. "You!" Spy points at a Scout. "Alert zhe others. We will storm zhe RED base. For I believe," A slimy sneer stretches on Spy's lips, even making the Pyro squirm. "Zhis ees a _checkmate_ , no?"

Aye, Demoman has finally made a decision. He does _not_ like the Spy.

* * *

"Y'know now that I think of it," Sniper says for the first time he and the RED team arrived in Holly's apartment, balancing his kukri on his knees. "Won't those BLU bastards try to steal ouar intel?"

He surveys the apartment, taking quick note of what each of his teammates are doing to entertain themselves. Heavy is sitting on the floor, cleaning out the unfortunate woman's refrigerator, food disappearing into his mouth. Demoman is in the bathroom, snoozing in the bathtub. Pyro got bored of the rolling chair, so it distracts itself with a lighter it always carries around. Engineer and Medic are discussing some technological-mumbo-jumbo. Scout, Spy, and Soldier are roaming outside doing whatever the hell they were doing.

Finally, someone answers his question. "Ah, no worries." Engineer dismisses Sniper's questions. In his lap, he is taking apart Holly's computer, examining each piece with care and scrutiny. Medic peers over his shoulder, scratching his chin, looking at the components as well. "No doubt the Administrator will take matters into her own hands. Afta all, she can't just let a battle rage on without us, without it bein' fair and all."

Sniper scowls, crossing his arms. He glances out of the window, a brick wall serving as scenery.

"You best hope yer right, Engineer."

* * *

Miss Pauling fumbles through her purse. She pushes aside some bullet shells, pepper spray, a pen containing poisoned ink, and a pocket knife. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" She murmurs to herself, sweat making her cheeks shiny. As soon as the Administrator barked the order for Miss Pauling to head to RED base to swipe the Intel, the assistant flew out of the door in a jiffy. _What in the flying hell happened to the RED team?_ Miss Pauling ponders, a twitchy smile spreading her face when she grasps the metal keys. Sorting the ring, she finds a copper key, and shoves it into the lock. _I have to look into it after I deal with this crazy mess!_

Forcing open a solid metal door, creaking and groaning when it swings open a little further, Miss Pauling slips through the big enough space she created, and runs through the hallway. A shotgun is clutched in her arms, high and poised, ready for aim if a threat should appear. Though the RED base is huge and also armed with booby traps, the map of the base is etched into her memory.

"Turn right...walk three steps to the left to avoid spiky wall trap...take another right…" Despite the assistant wearing high heels, surprisingly, Miss Pauling could handle herself very well. Daintly, she runs through the hallways, skillfully avoiding traps and doing her best to stay close to the shadows. She knows that any second now, BLU forces will come invading the RED base, seizing the chance to steal RED intel. _Now that I think of it,_ Miss Pauling ducks, multiple deadly poisoned darts fly through the air.

 _Why doesn't the Administrator just stall the BLU team from reaching the RED base? Then RED could just Respawn and defend the briefcase. I mean, she has the resources._ She barrel rolls through the mess, untouched.

Jumping on her feet, Miss Pauling rushes downstairs. Reaching a door, Miss Pauling looks at the control panel. Rolling her eyes, she smacks her forehead. "I really oughta tell the boys to change their password." She sighs, pressing a worn down number two button four times. " _Password accepted!"_ Says a pleasant programmed female voice. She forces the door open, her nerves relaxing to see the briefcase safe and sound.

"Oh well." Miss Pauling says to herself, wiping her sweaty brow. "What the Administrator orders, the Administrator gets."

 _Waaaa-AAAH! Waaa-AAAH!_ The whine of the sirens drills into Miss Pauling's ears. Cringing, she involuntarily covers her ears.

" _Intruder, Intruder!"_ The A.I chants. " _BLU Team is invading the base!"_

"Already?!" Gripping the suitcase, Miss Pauling flies to the surveillance. Her fingers flying across the keyboard, she manages to find the cameras recording BLU's attack in a matter of seconds. She sucks in a sharp breath, seeing that they have already stormed the first floor. Her heart sinks a little bit, when she sees two Pyros finding her entrance hatch. _Time for Plan B!_

Forcing open the briefcase, Miss Pauling grabs the stack of papers and manila folders shoved into the tiny space, and shoves it into her purse. Running back to the mainframe, she types in some codes and answers passwords under a minute. "C'mon…!" She whispers, drumming her fingers. In approximately two minutes, the BLU team will arrive in the basement...

" _Change password?"_

"Yes!"

" _Password changed."_

Slamming the briefcase back to its former place and shutting the only entrance into the Intel Room, Miss Pauling's thoughts turn to the next part of her plan.

"As cliche as it is," She mutters to herself, rummaging through her purse. "I gotta go through the air vents." She grabs a small black box, to any outsider, it would look like a typical make-up kit. Clicking open the box, the contents of said box suggests anything but. An array of sharp knives that would prick your finger if you so much touch the blades, some weapons designed to induce the worse amount of pain to the receiver, and other intimidating trinkets.

Miss Pauling grabs a black hand with no blade, and stuffs the make-up kit into her already bursting purse. Pressing a button, a shiny metal end belong to a screwdriver appears. Rushing to a vent, Miss Pauling starts working.

" _LOCATED THE INTEL!"_ A Soldier cries out. He must have been at least twenty feet away from the room, but his ear-splitting scream reaches Miss Pauling's ears as clear as day. _Don't sweat it._ She tells herself, even though she is sweating quite profusely. The second screw falls to the floor, with a satisfying _ping!_ She moves on to the third bolt, twisting her multitool.

" _Hup-two, hup-two, hup-two!_ "

The march of Soldiers echo through the hallway.

Miss Pauling's grip on her multitool slips, thanks to her damp hands. "Get a hold of yourself!" She quietly scolds herself.

" _Outta the way rookie! This is how a REAL Soldier handles locked doors!"_

She says a quiet thanks to the Administrator that at least the BLU Soldiers, clones of the original Soldier, shared the same low IQ.

" _Erm...one...one...uhhmmmmmm. ONE!"_

" _Access denied."_

" _CURSE YOU LOCKED DOORS!"_

" _Imbeciles."_

Miss Pauling takes a giant gulp. Oh god, of all BLU members that caught up to the Intel Room, it had to be the _Spy._ Unfortunately, he too as well, shares the same qualities of the original Spy. Competent, sharp, and smart. A capable enemy is a dangerous enemy. Hurrying up her escape, she unscrews the last of the bolt.

Spy scolding his teammates outside of the door, he himself enters a code.

" _Access denied."_

" _Funny, I did not think zey were competent enough to change zeir passwaird…"_

On the verge of tears, Miss Pauling succeeds in unscrewing the last bolt. Biting down her tongue, she removes the vent, with as little sound as possible.

" _WE MUST THINK LIKE THE ENEMY!"_ Cries a Soldier. " _Three...three...uhhhhhh…"_

" _I believe zhe next eez 'trois'."_

" _You speak Spanish, Spy?!"_

" _Je suis entouré d'idiots…"_

…

" _Password accepted!_ "

" _VICTORY! HA, TAKE THAT LOCKED DOOR!_ "

" _Zhat...actually worked?!"_

"You have got to be kidding me." Miss Pauling nearly wanted to scream. However, she bites down her tongue once again, scoops up the screws, and crawls inside the vent. She hears the door swing open, but already, she is inside her escape route. _Note to self: install new software into the RED mainframe._ She grinds her teeth, unable to fathom how a Soldier could outsmart an A.I.

* * *

Head throbbing from being too close in proximity with the idiotic trio of Soldiers, Spy forces the door open. His mouth trembles into smile, and his fingers twitch, desperate to get a grasp on the briefcase. _Victory. Victory is in my sight._ He walks to the Intel, caressing the surface. _It's finally going to be in my hands._ Spy shudders with relish. He was so deep in bliss, he didn't even glare at the Soldiers who shove past him to see the briefcase for themselves.

"Affirmative! Briefcase in sight!"

"Mother of God, it is more glorious than I can ever imagine!"

"George Washington bless America!"

Spy puts both of his hands on the briefcase, wondering if his eyes were fooling him. After a month of humiliation, it seemed too good to be true that BLU could win. _Just a little peek. Just a peek to see what secrets zhe RED briefcase contains._ He unclasps the lock and opens the briefcase…

"My God, the RED team has been hiding _nothing_ from us all along!"

"Who knew the enemy could be so _DASTARDLY?!_ "

Spy stares at the heartlessly bare and very much empty briefcase. Snarling, he throws the briefcase to the side. Scanning the room, he searches for any signs of foul play. His eyes lie on a single screw, lying near the air vents. Storming over to the inconsistency, he takes off the air vent, finding that all of the screws were unbolted. Rolling his tongue in his cheeks, longing for the presence of a cigar, Spy turns to the other Soldiers.

"We 'ave a third party."

* * *

Miss Pauling crawls through the vents, military style. She knew she wasn't in the clear just yet - now comes the challenge of actually escaping the facility. And she knew it was only a matter of time till BLU Spy discovers her interference with the briefcase. Unlike RED team, who is aware of her existence, BLU team does not. So if they do catch her, they wouldn't be as welcoming as her RED friends… She rubs her watery eyes, and scratches her nose.

Dust coats the nooks and crannies of the claustrophobic air vents. _I need to get out of here as fast as possible._ Miss Pauling considers her options, scouring through her memories of blueprints of the RED base's ventilation system. Picking through her choices, Miss Pauling dismisses each one of them. _Can't jump out of a five story window, unless I want to break my neck. Can't sneak down the hallways, cuz the BLU team will be on high patrol for me, not to mention the sentries littered everywhere…_

Just as Miss Pauling was going to reach a conclusion, something grabs her ankle.

"PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR YOU RED-FRATERNIZING SCUM! Well, there isn't actually space for you to raise your hands, so just punch the - AAAGHH!" Miss Pauling retaliates the Soldier's grip, slamming the end of her high heel into his cheek. His grip loosens, and this moment of weakness allows Miss Pauling to slip away. Dragging herself through the too-tight crawl-space, she makes her getaway.

 _New plan, new plan!_ She screams internally. Behind her, the Soldier is screaming off the top of his head, and despite his injury, drags himself after Miss Pauling. _Christ, I can't have him following me! They're going to figure out where I am!_

" _Oi, BLU Spy said someone stole Intel! They're crawling through the vents!"_

" _I vill shoot leetle worms!"_

Miss Pauling's eyes widen, realizing what the BLU team members below her intend to do. She wastes no time, once hearing the whir of the Heavy's gun, she chucks her shotgun over the ledge and lifts herself upwards, to the next level of cramped crawl-ways. Soldier is below her, clambering to follow, blood bushing from the wound she made on her cheek. She crawls for dear life, as far away from the BLU's impending attack.

_Whiiirrrrrrrr!_

Bullets fly through the vents, punching choles through the flimsy metal of the air vents. Soldier screams, his voice mixed with thick blood, as he takes the worse hits of BLU Heavy's attack. Breathing shakily, Miss Pauling crawls away, even faster, distancing herself from the bloodbath. Dust and spiderwebs stick easily to Miss Pauling's damp skin, making her feel extra grimy. _Okay, okay, so I have no idea where I'm going. Okay._ Miss Pauling swallows, her tongue touching the dry roof of her mouth.

 _Calculating a new, new plan...alright, so surveillance system is not installed in the ventilation system, bathrooms, and showers._ Miss Pauling taps her chin, licking her dry mouth. If she could get to the nearest bathroom as quietly as possible, she might have a chance of getting out of here. Taking a deep breath, Miss Pauling prepares for even more crawling and dust ahead of her.

* * *

Panting, Miss Pauling stops at a grated air vent, allowing her to peer into the room. A tiny rectangular bathroom, lighted by a single lightbulb. Perfect. She manages a relieved smile, straightening her glasses. She pulls out her multitool, and gets to work, unscrewing each bolt. She has just taken out the last screw, and slipped into the bathroom, when she hears the handle turn. Eyes widening, Miss Pauling takes refuge in a Re-Supply closet. Shutting the door, the bathroom door swings open, revealing an Engineer.

A bushy thick beard blocks most of his face, and whistling, he enters and locks the door. He slams a BLU metal toolbox on the floor. Miss Pauling squints through the grates of the closet, a plan formulating in her mind. Hearing the Engineer un-zip his pants, Miss Pauling paws through her bag. Grasping her hand on a pocket knife, she slips out of the closet. The Engineer is still whistling, the sound accompanied with a steady stream of liquid pouring into the toilet.

Grimacing, Miss Pauling darts to the Engineer, and with a quick slash, slides the blade across his neck. The poor bastard didn't even know what hit him, and choking on his own blood, he falls to the floor already dead.

"That's a sad way of going out," She comments to herself, pushing the body to the side. Lifting her wrist, Miss Pauling spins the watch. She points it at the direction of the dead BLU Engineer. A red light scans the corpse. _Identity scanned. Initiating disguise._ The red light scans over Miss Pauling's body. To make extra sure the technology worked, she glances at the mirror. Instead of a young lady with attentive green eyes framed with glasses appearing in the mirror, there is a stout and short Engineer with a ridiculously thick beard.

Unlike Spy's masked disguises, Miss Pauling was given a much more sophisticated technology, in the case of emergencies. When using the watch for a disguise, Miss Pauling could attack without it lifting, unlike Spy's disguise masks. The only downside is, she can't imitate the person who she is disguised as with her voice and there was a timer of thirty minutes. So she must use the watch wisely, for emergencies.

Wasting no time, she stuffs her purse into the Engineer's toolbox. She heaves the box into her arms, weighing practically a ton. Prepared for anything, she slips out of the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

* * *

Scout walks through the streets of...well, where-ever the hell he is. _Maybe we're not in Australia afterall. I've neva' seen this much people in Teufort before._ He glances around, overwhelmed by the surroundings. No matter where he looks, the streets are packed with people, going _somewhere._ A plethora of ethnicities come, wave after wave. Asians seem to take up the most majority, from what Scout has seen. Foreign, unintelligible giberrish pours out of most of the people's tongues, leaving Scout with a headache when he tries to decipher them.

The city - Scout is guessing it's a city based off his experience growing up in Boston - looks so much different too. The cars, the buildings, the way people dress.

The cars are much shinier and refined, unlike the automobiles designed as smooth rectangular boxes with wheels. There were so much people, Scout would have assumed the place is overpopulated. The buildings are painted bright red, bunched up together like blocks. Instead of poofy dresses and hairsprayed and smooth hairstyles for women and turtlenecks and buttoned up sleeves for the men, people wore clothes that were either too short, too casual, or not matching the "Sunday best" Scout was so accustomed seeing back home.

He adjusts his headset and cap uneasily. Why Scout even bothered to keep the headset on when his team wasn't even using it to communicate, he had no clue why. _Just my handy dandy trademark._

Scout walks aimlessly, until he reaches a flowery banner, marking the end of streets. Frowning, Scout twists his head to read it.

' _Welcome to Little Italy!'_

"Little Italy, eh?" Scout tries to make sense of this new information, when somebody taps his arm. He spins around, hands curled into fists, ready for action. He glances down, realizing it was just a couple of kids. They look identical, one wearing red glasses that magnifies his eyes three times its size and the other wearing sunglasses. Scout unclenches his hands, relaxing his shoulders. "Uhm...hey little dudes."

Both smile when they heard Scout talk, and grin at each other.

"May we get autograph?" One asks, in broken English, a Chinese accent thick in his tongue. He is holding out a baseball, looking with his owl-like eyes through his glasses.

"For sure!" Scout takes a pen one of the boys was holding out, and scribbles his name on the baseball. Why a couple of random kids would ask for his autograph was _beyond_ him. Then again, kids are freaking weird. The twins whisper to each other excitedly, in Chinese.

"You have cool costume." Says the other twin, straightening his sunglasses. "You like playing game too?"

Assuming they were talking about baseball, Scout nods. "Hell yeah I do! I'm da best runner in the world!"

"谢谢, mister Scout!"

As quick as the black haired twins appeared, they run away, disappearing into a shop with crammed barrels of fish. Scout stares off in their direction, a funny look on his face.

"What a couple of little weirdos." He scratches the back of his neck, shrugging. The strange incident at the back of his mind, Scout continues forward. If there was one thing he enjoyed about this place, he decides, it would be the fact that it wasn't unbearably hot. Working in the middle of nowhere in an Australian desert for his year at the RED team, Scout despised the never-ending heat. There was always red, red, red dust everywhere as far as the eye could see.

This strange place nearly reminded Scout of Boston. The air is cool accompanied by a soft breeze. Despite the streets being busy and crammed, Scout finds the city environment almost peaceful.

"BACK OFF YA COMMIE-LOVING CHINKS!"

Scout groans, rubbing his bandaged hands over his face. Welp, so much for some goddamned peace and quiet. One part of Scout wanted to walk the opposite direction and act like he never heard Soldier. The other part, however, knew that he couldn't let Soldier wander around in an alien place without the restraint of teammates. Smacking his forehead, Scout begrudingly walks over to the direction of Soldier's incessant hollering.

It doesn't take long for Scout to find him, the Soldier making one hell of scene in front of some poor man's shop. The owner is yelling obscenities in Chinese, waving fists at Soldier. His wife is cowering in the shop, a phone next to her ear. A crowd has formed, watching the fantastic spectacle. Soldier is waving a shovel and a fish in the other hand. Anyone who tried to get so much as close to the crazed patriotic man, earns a smack in the face with either shovel or fish.

"Don't you dare move another muscle you maggots!" Growls Soldier, dead fish and shovel clutched in his hands. "I will smack anyone of you silly if you go so much as _near_ me! I WON'T LET YOU UN-AMERICAN MONGRELS WIN THIS WAR!"

Scout lets out a moan. Maybe he shouldn't have volunteered to go after Soldier.

Just as Scout was about to reluctantly retrieve Soldier, a tall and lanky figure in a smart suit appears next to Soldier, seemingly out of nowhere. He stabs something that looks like a syringe into Soldier's neck, and with that puncture, the Soldier falls limps. Each of the RED team carries around a syringe with sedations, courtesies of Medic. Just in case if Soldier gets out of hand, which is very often. The crowd draws back, staring at the new presence, not sure whether to panic or not. Scout crosses his arms, side-smiling.

"Bout' time that slick bastard got his hands dirty."

"My apologies." Spy says to the owner, who is glaring at the sedated Soldier. He shoves a stack of cash into his hands. "Compensation for any trouble my friend 'as caused. Good day." Bowing his head, Spy manages to drag the huge frame of Soldier away. The crowd of people hang around, watching Spy drag him off. Deciding this was nothing to worry out, they disperse.

An unpleasant expression twisted into Spy's face, he manages to drag the slack Soldier over to Scout.

"What's up Frenchie?"

"Do not _what ees up_ me, Scout!" Snaps Spy, and he drops Soldier to the ground. Soldier mumbles something untranslatable, probably something along the lines of hating communism and attacking with prejudice. Flipping open his disguise kit, Spy takes out a new cigarette, throwing his current one over his shoulder. Lighting it, Spy puffs his smoke feverishly. "Unlike _you_ , who 'as been wandering aimlessly around zhis place like some stray dog, I 'ave been doing zum work!"

Scout rolls his eyes. "Don't nag me grandma."

"Zhis should wipe zat asinine smile off your face." Spy starts taking something out of his suit. " _Behold!"_ Scout jumps, Spy smacking a magazine straight on his face.

"Watch it ya - UGH, what the hell is that?!"

Scout's eyes pop, horrified at the sight of what is on the magazine. A fat little girl with an obscene amount of curls and heavily applied make-up, grins at the camera with the biggest shit-eating expression. An even fatter woman with a triple-chin is smiling (more like baring her teeth), holding the little girl's shoulders. Big bold yellow letters sprawl across the magazine reading, ' _Here Comes Honey-Boo-Boo!'_

Spy frowns at Scout's reaction. "What ex-zactly ees so 'orrifying - _Oh mon Dieu!_ " Even Spy, the most emotionless out of all the RED team, flinches at the sight of the magazine cover. His cigarette nearly falls out of his mouth, from Spy losing his composure. He saves face, trying to revert to his discreet expression. "Erm, my apologies. 'Ere, just a moment." He slips through the pages, and raises them. "Feast your eyes!"

Scout reads the pages Spy urgently needed him to see. All he sees is pages full of smiling women in dresses worthy to be worn at the Oscars, and probably scorned back at home by society for how revealing some of them were. The funny thing is, the photos were colored, instead of the standard black and white. "Uhm, Spy, I didn't know you were into women's magazines - OW!" Spy smacks him straight on the nose with the magazine. "The hell was that for?!"

"You can read, no? Or are you zat brain damaged zat you are not even capable of reading?"

"Gimme that!"

Scowling and flipping off Spy, Scout grabs the magazine from his hands. He skims through the pages. ' _Best Dresses of 2012! We're leaving 2012 with a strong and glamorous bang!'_ Scout frowns, and glances at Spy for answers. Spy taps his foot, smoking away. Soldier is lying at their feet, sleeping like a baby. People walking by give the trio of men a bunch of funny looks, yet the RED members ignore them. Glancing back and forth between the magazine and Spy's impatient face, Scout slowly pieces it together.

"Wait...wait just a fucking moment. We're...we're…" Scout drops the magazine from his hands, slapping them on his cheeks. "WE TRAVELED THROUGH TIME INTO THE FUCKING FUTURE?!" This earns even more looks from passerbys, most of them opting to walk to the other side to stay away from the seemingly unhinged men.

"I do not need for you to lose your 'ead." Spy calmly remarks.

"How - when - the hell?!"

"Zhere ees more." Spy takes something else out of his suit, this time a newspaper. "Read zhis."

Hands shaking a bit, Scout grabs the newspaper.

In bold letters printed into the thick paper reads, ' _The New York Times.'_

Scout folds the newspaper in half, hand on forehead.

"Christ, Spy." His once horrified expression, shifts into the familiar cocky and too-full-of-himself smile. "The Respawn took us to the City That Never Sleeps!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, this was one long hell of a chapter! I hope it wasn't too much for you guys to take in! And sorry folks, no Holly in this chapter. There was simply no room for her. I felt like I had a lot to cover in this particular chapter, and I'm trying my best not to drag things out. I'm just trying to sort out the characters' confusion and the crazy situation they're stuck in, and setting up stuff for future plot points.
> 
> And whaddya know? There's plot moving in the background! Looks like things are getting wild back in the TF2 world! I hope you guys enjoyed this particularly long chapter! Tell me in the reviews whether you want more in the future, what you liked about this chapter, what you wanna see in future chapters - heck, anything! I do love hearing your thoughts!


	4. Meet the O' Sullivans

**~Chapter Four~**

Scout glares at Spy, as he struggles to support the bulky form of Soldier upstairs. They finally found Holly's apartment, down a tight alley populated mostly by dingy restaurants and tiny clothing stores. Apparently the woman lives on top of some Indian restaurant, and the spicy scent Scout smelled in her apartment is stronger than ever. Soldier murmurs something intelligible, managing to rub his sweaty hand over Scout's face.

"Ugh! Back off!" Scout huffs, smacking his hand away. He is literally bending over, his skinny body pathetically supporting Soldier. "Hey, asshole, ya gonna make me break my back?"

"You can live with it."

They only reached the top of the stairs, when the floorboards creak beneath them.

"Hello? Who's there?" Someone calls out, with a foreign accent playing on his tongue. It is unlike any accent Scout heard of before, despite working with a group of stereotypical men representing their respective countries.

Spy pauses, cigarette primly clenched between his teeth. Scout looks at him, and back at the direction where the voice came from. Footsteps travel up the stairs. Seeing no direction from Spy, Scout twists his head to look at the new comer, peeking his eyes from the Soldier's armpit. A man is a few steps below him, looking up at Spy, Scout, and Soldier through circular wire thin glasses. Thick gray hair is slicked back with a modest amount of hair gel. He is looking straight at the clearly out of place trio.

"Who are you?" He asks, Scout making a face at his weird accent. A childish part of him wanted to hear the man speak more, just to decide where his accent belongs.

"Family." Scout answers immediately, off the top of his head. _Of course, this chick is totally related to a French dude, a nutcase, and some guy from Boston._

Glaring at Scout for his impulsive lie, Spy clears his throat. Smoothly, he works off of Scout's poor attempt at lying. "We are distant family. For zhe time-being, we are staying with your neighbor. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Ah." The man fixes his glasses, squinting at the men. Scout gulps, from both anticipation and Soldier's body heat. Distant or not, Scout wasn't sure if just anybody could buy the bullshit that three strange men are related to somebody's neighbor. "I see, I see." The man nods, smiling. He walks up to Scout, shaking one of his free hands that isn't holding Soldier. "Greetings, greetings! I'm a close friend of Holly's, Mahadev Khan! For sake of simplicity, call me Khan, eh? And you are?"

Scout pulls his hand away, a bit too forcefully. He never saw the point of handshakes, a phony sort of custom. Reaching for the back of his neck, Scout can feel the sweat forming there. He wondered if Scout could pass off as a "proper" name.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, Scout lets his mouth get the best of him.

"Doug's da name."

The old man bobs his head, still smiling as spacefully as ever. He looks over to Spy, expecting him to introduce himself as well. Spy shares a private look with Scout. Hardly the RED members ever address each other by true name. It's thrown around so rarely, in fact, Scout is simply content calling his teammates by their professions.

"Marceau." Spy nods at Khan, mouth hardly moving.

"Ah, nice to meet you both! Who's that? He looks just about passed out!" Khan exclaims, tilting his head to look at the unconscious Soldier.

Scout adjusts him on his shoulders, and he flashes a lopsided smile.

"Just a guy who had a little too much to drink, know what I'm sayin?"

Khan roars with laughter, as if Scout told a joke of the century. "Hahaha, funny! Well, it was nice to meet you both!" says Khan brightly. "Here, give this to Holly for me, will you?" He shoves a plastic bag with a few styrofoam boxes into Scout's other hand. "Tell Holly it is shrimp curry, her and Allan's favorite!" Khan beams. His head bounces up and down - in fact, that's all Khan seems to be capable of. Waving, the old man hobbles downstairs, and disappears into a doorway.

Spy jeers at Scout. "Your poor lying skills will get you into a world of trouble someday."

"Can it, _Marc._ "

"Unlez you value your fingers, I suggest you _do not_ addrez me by my true name as if we are comrades."

"'I suggest you don't address me by my true name,'" Scout mimics Spy in a poor rendition of a French accent, his own Bostanian accent affecting the imitation. He lugs Soldier up the rest of the stairs. "Jackass."

Ignoring Scout, Spy raps his knuckles on the door. In his right arm, he is holding the two articles that finally gave the answer where the RED team landed. Scout could only wonder how the entire team would react. Then again, they have always seen the craziest shit. So the Respawn taking them about fifty years into the future right smack in New York City wasn't _that big of a deal._ He huffs, dropping Soldier's useless body on the floor. Might as well drag him inside.

Thinking of Engineer and Medic, Scout adjusts his cap. _Those two eggheads better have a damn good explanation for this crap._

* * *

"Fascinating, fascinating, _fascinating._ " The Medic mutters, stroking his chin. His eyes are bright and calculating, a thin Cheshire grin spread on his face. Scout shudders, glad he wasn't sitting next to the mad doctor. The slumped and sleeping form of Soldier is below his feet. _Wonder what coulda been in dat syringe? Some pretty freaking powerful drugs, dat's what._ Besides from the fire-loving freak and the sleazy scumbag of a spy, Medic was someone else on the team Scout didn't _exactly_ like. Or find sane. Shivers go down his spine, recalling the Medic's maddened expression as he rips open Scout's chest in order to retrieve his stupid bird…

"The Respawn is capable of functionin' as a time travel machine?" The Engineer sounds high on euphoria, from his dreamy smile. "I oughta drink to that."

"Way ahead of ye boy-o." Slurs Demoman, who found a bottle of wine from rummaging through the woman's cabinets. After Spy revealed the new information of the RED team possibly having traveled into the future and landing in New York City, Demoman reacts as he would typically do. Drinking the pain away.

"Do you 'ave any theories as to 'ow zhe machine ees capable of such powers?" Questions Spy, already smoking away at his fifth cigarette.

Engineer scrunches his face, tapping his chin. "Not a clear picture," he finally admits. "But I reckon I shoulda said something sooner to the Administrator...ever since she provided us with some of that new technology to upgrade our machines, the Respawn system has been actin' mighty funny." He points at the broken pieces of Holly's computer. "Pulling apart that thing, Medic and I realized that the doohickey is awful similar to the goods she provided."

"Vhat does discovery prove?" Asks Heavy, his eyebrows scrunched in deep thought as he is trying to comprehend the situation.

Engineer sighs, shaking his head. "Well, not much. With the lady's machine broken and all, I can't come to a conclusion as to how the Respawn brought us here."

"Now that we're like, fifty years into da future," Chimes in Scout. "Does dat mean we technically don't work for da Administrator anymore?"

The RED team pauses, pondering along with Scout at this question.

"I mean, dat old hag can't possibly alive at dis point!" Scout carries on, a smiling pulling at his lips. "So ding-dong, the bitch is dead baby!" He hoots, pumping fists.

Some of mercs start smiling as well, revelation dawning upon them. Yes, if they have somehow traveled into the future, than their dreaded boss is more than likely _dead_. True she paid them very well and quenched their bloodlust for their particular liking to killing, it didn't mean that the mercs exactly loved her.

"Wot about family members, then?" Sniper speaks up finally, a man of few words or opinions.

Scout freezes, cheesy victory dance cut short. Along with relief comes creeping dread, for some of the mercs.

Spy is unfazed. "What bushman, do you zhink zat your parents would care for you likewise if you 'appened to disappear for half a century - oh wait." That trademark smug smirk appears on Spy's face, at his low blow at Sniper's history. "You already know what that is like. My apologies for raising zhe subject." Spy's expression looked anything but sorry, smirk still playing on his mouth.

Sniper's nostrils flares, and he whips out his kukri. "Wanna say that again, ya sleazy french frog?" He growls, the blade glinting in the sunlight. Nearly all of the mercs inwardly sigh, as if to say, _Not this shit again._

Scout jumps off the counter, ready on his feet. "Lay off it, Spy!"

"Zhis is not your fight." Spy sneers at Scout.

"You're making it mine!"

"Always zhe instigator, are you boy?"

"Ya know, unlike some French bastards, some of us in dis room actually have family!"

"What are you trying to imply, _Doug_?"

Scout's hands curl into fists. "At least some of us in here actually have people dat care for us!"

"You know _nothing!"_

A silver blur whizzes by Scout's ear, grazing against his flesh sharply. Scout jumps to the side, mouth hanging open. _Twang!_ Heads snapping to the direction of the sound, everyone sees a trademark butterfly knife lodged into the chalky white wall. Scout reaches for his ear, where the knife flew by. Looking down, anger bubbles inside him to see some red liquid painted on the tip of his fingertips. Spy is staring into Scout's eyes, the intent-to-kill strong with his intense gaze.

"You fucking cock-son-of-a-!"

_Click!_

Scout stops mid-scream, and the mercs turn their heads to the door. The door creaks open.

A kid, a red baseball tucked on their head, enters the apartment. He closes the door behind him, having not seen the nine mercs inside his apartment yet. A wooden baseball is in one of his hands, and he drops it carelessly on the floor. Sighing, the little boy turns around. He stiffens, finally seeing the intruders. Dark gray eyes look through messy brown hair. Sheepishly, Scout drops his fists at the appearance of the kid, ignoring the blood trickling down his ear.

Looking at all nine of the men, the little boy frowns deeply.

"You guys look like those ugly dudes from Holly's dumb-bunny game."

* * *

Holly takes a swig of water, parking her bike outside the high fences of the baseball field. Panting and heart beating wildly inside her chest, Holly takes a deep breath. Even though today's typical November weather is cool, Holly felt nothing sort of the coolness. Sweat is drenched in her torso and her face is absolutely red. _This kid, this irritating kid is giving me the freaking run for my money!_ Stomping into the baseball field and red duct clouding her vision, she heads over to a group of kids hollering at each other, in the middle of an intense baseball game.

Reaching a kid with bright red hair, Holly taps his shoulder.

He turns around, frowning, baseball clutched in his hands.

"H-hey." Holly is panting, struggling to catch her breath. "Erm, happened to see Allan around?"

"Allan?" The boy cocks his head. Some of the other kids are looking on, wondering what could an adult possibly want from them and why she would want to interrupt their game. Just as the redhead was going to answer Holly's question, somebody rudely interrupts.

"You mean that wannabe?" Shouts another boy. He is the tallest out of all of the boys, and the one with visibly better and newer sports equipment. The crowd of boys part like a Red Sea, making way for him. _Looks like he's there ringleader._ Holly observes to herself. Freckles are splayed across his face, from playing in the sun too much. He swings a shiny aluminum baseball bat in his hands, as if trying to show it off. Holly frowns at the tone the boy took when talking about Allan.

"Yeah, Allan." Holly replies firmly, lightly frowning at the boy.

"She tried playing with us but -" A boy, much shorter and chubbier, nudges Freckle Face, as Holly mentally decides to dub him. Freckle Face scowls, but remembers Holly is there. "Yeah, she ran off after we told her she couldn't play."

Forgetting her irritance at Allan, Holly drops her arms to the sides, resting them on her hips. "And why not?"

Freckle Face shrugs, smiling as if he stole some baby's candy bar. "Cuz she was a girl and she was too slow to play with us. Duh."

Holly squints her eyes. However, she takes another deep breath. _They're just a bunch of dumb kids. No need to get into a fight with them._ "Righty right then. Thanks." Holly is about to walk away, when she feels pride sting her. "Just so you know," She says casually to the boys. "Allan is the best dang pitcher than any of you newbies can throw a baseball. So think about that next time when she asks to play with you. Or else, you're going to be missing out on a great team player."

Satisfied, Holly walks off, having a good idea where Allan could be.

* * *

Allan stomps with each step she took upstairs. She rushes past Mr. Khan and Mrs. Khan, who are sitting behind the cash register, playing Chinese checkers as usual. She ignores Mr. Khan greeting her, saying something about curry. Ugh! Curry! Dumb-bunny gross-tasting curry! Why does she always have to eat that gross stuff whenever she comes to Holly's place? Her stupid, dumb-bunny place! She sniffs, hating the feeling of wet snot clogging her nose. She didn't cry. She absolutely didn't cry at all when that ugly-face Johnny Accardi told her to stink off and not play the game with them.

It wasn't fair! She's slow and she has her stupid asth-ma, but she could throw her damndest! At least, that's how her mommy would put it.

Sniffing harder, Allan wipes her nose. Stopping in front of the door, Allan frowns hearing some muffled shouts and yells from inside the ugly apartment. There are multiple voices, none sounding like mommy, Holly, or Mira. They are much deeper and boy-like, with funny sounding weirdness. In fact, one of the voices nearly reminded Allan of that talking candle from _Beauty and the Beast._

Fishing the spare key from her pocket, Allan reaches for the lock. Copying the way she sees Holly unlock the door everytime, she opens it. The screaming stops. Not all that scared or anything, Allan drops her baseball and is sure to lock the door behind her. Finally she turns around. A whole bunch of men are inside the apartment. They all dressed pretty funny, even though Halloween passed a long, long way ago. Allan frowns deeply, feeling like she recognized the men in some way.

She faintly recalls them looking like video game characters from one of Holly's weird games. Once she played a game, but Allan hate, hate, _hated_ it. It was so hard, and the characters inside the game were always screaming and the sounds from the game were too loud. She'd rather play and run around outside.

"You guys look like those ugly dudes from Holly's dumb-bunny game." Allan declares, piecing it together. Why would these weirdos dress like people from a game was beyond her. Slipping her bookbag off her shoulders, Allan walks over to the fridge. She hopes there was some chocolate milk or something. At least sweets always made her feel better. Opening the fridge, she scowls seeing it empty, save for a bunch of containers.

"Hey, where's all of the food?"

"Oops." Rumbles one of the strangers, his voice very deep. Sorta like Patrick Star or Barney.

"Lame." Allan sighs, slamming shut the fridge.

"Uhhmmm, kid, who're you?" One of them asked, the smallest out of the weird strangers. He wears a baseball cap, and a baseball bat is sticking out of his backpack. Allan decides she likes him best, just for playing baseball.

"Allan. You have red stuff trickling down your ear."

He reaches his ears, making a funny expression. "Aw yeah."

"Who are all of you?" Allan asks.

"Family members." Answers another man, a ski-mask or something on his face. He is smoking. Allan frowns and coughs at the smell of the cigarette.

"Smoking is bad for you, you know. That's what Mr. Wright told my class." Allan says to the mask-man.

His face twists up, as if he himself smelled something gross.

"And besides," Allan continues, arms crossed. "I don't wanna be related to you weirdos."

Baseball-Boy snorts, as if finding what she said funny. Allan didn't see why, cuz all she said was her thoughts.

"Ya reckon ya know where erm, your guardian is?" A man with a hardhat and goggles ask. Is he a construction worker?

Allan shrugs, and walks over to the mirrors. She slides the last one open, revealing a compartment. "I dunno. She'll come whenever." Allan turns back to the men, a board game in her hands. "I don't wanna do homework, so can you play a game with me? It's _Candyland._ "

A guy in a red suit jumps up and down, clapping their hands. Skipping over to Allan, it plops down on the floor, ready for the game to begin. Allan smiles for the first time, and she turns to the rest of the costumed men. "We need two more players. For the game to work, you know." She puts a hand on her side, looking expectantly at each one of the men. They look away, some of them making funny faces at each other. She huffs, not happy to see that they don't want to play.

"Holly told me that if I ever see anything weird, I should call the police." Points out Allan, haughtily.

The men murmur, frowning at Allan.

"Ya sure are pushy kid." Says Baseball-Boy, walking over to Suit-Guy and her.

Allan smiles at him as well.

Baseball-Boy looks over to his friends, saying something she couldn't quite hear to them. Some of them argue, saying they couldn't play some "kid's game." Baseball-Boy argues back, and points at one of the men, with a cowboy hat and orange sunglasses. Allan decides she'll just call him 'Woody', one of her favorite characters of all time. Woody straightens, looking back and forth between Allan and Baseball-Boy.

"Crikey." He says outloud, and joins Allan, Suit-Guy, and Baseball-Boy. Some of the men laugh, as if finding it funny that they were going to play _Candyland._

 _They're just all boring._ Allan thinks, scowling at the rest of the men who refused to play. She dumps the contents of the board game on the floor. Cards flutter to the floor, the board falls smack, and the player pieces tumblr out.

"I call red, and youngest goes first." Says Allan, grabbing the red piece with the upmost confidence.

"Been a long time since I played dis game." Baseball says, grabbing the green piece. Allan laughs at the sound of his voice. He nearly sounds like Johnny Accardi, only sounding much more friendlier and definitely cooler.

"You guys all talk funny."

* * *

At early six o' clock, it is already dark. Holly made sure to turn on her safety lights on her bike, so she won't get run over or anything. Thankfully, the streets of Little Italy was not as full and painfully crowded as earlier, the tourists having cleared out and residents heading come for the day. Altogether, Holly's drive home was mostly peaceful, except for her mind. _No need to call the police or anything. Allan may be a little twerp, but she isn't dumb enough to get lost. God, I hope so._

Finally reaching her familiar tight yet cozy looking alleyway to her home, Holly parks her bike. Chaining and properly locking it, Holly enters the back door to the stairwell. Walking inside, the overwhelming yet comforting scent of incredibly spicy and strong curry. From the stairwell, she can hear the upbeat and smooth voice of a Bengali woman, singing a song in her foreign words. Holly sighs deeply, glad for a sense of familiarity.

Helmet in her hands, Holly stares down at it. Looking at her red helmet somehow reminded her of the TF2 mercs - "Wait just a freaking second." Holly swears her heart stops. She sprints upstairs. _Allan. Allan is home. With a bunch of probably sociopathic men. Oh god. Oh god._ Hyperventilating and tearing up, Holly manages somehow to unlock the door despite all panic, and flings it open.

"Allan? Allan, are you al-!" Holly stops mid-sentence and mid-panic, heart jumping in her chest.

There was Allan alright, sitting on the floor playing Candyland. With Sniper, Scout, and Pyro. _Freaking Pyro. Freaking Pyro of all the mercs, is sitting in my freaking apartment, playing freaking Candyland. What. The. Freak. Has my life become?_ Everybody in the apartment turns to look Holly, as if she were crazy. She must have looked crazy. Her hair is absolutely drenched with sweat, her glasses practically sliding halfway down her face, and her cheeks still red. She takes another deep breath, trying to ease her wild heartbeat, and slides her sweaty palms down her equally sweaty face.

 _I'm gonna have to take a shower before the water turns off._ She reminds herself, suddenly feeling very much tired from today's insane events. Closing the door and marching inside, Holly walks over to the sink, and flips the faucet on. Taking handfuls of water, she splashes her face, relishing the coolness. In an ungainly way, she tilts her head sideways and drinks from the running water. All the while, she feels almost everyone's eyes on her. Gulping and wiping her mouth, Holly more or less felt refreshed. She rips off some paper towels, wipes off her sweaty forehead and damp mouth.

Ignoring the presence of the mercs, she stares straight at Allan. Allan pretends to have not seen Holly, keeping her eyes on the game. Holly crosses her arms, keeping her stare steady. All is quiet and tense, the mercs clearly sensing it. Allan struggles not to squirm under Holly's unforgiving glare, but betrays reaction, by hiding her face behind a game card.

"Angie Allan O'Sullivan," Holly states, trying to keep her voice cold and angry. "You stand up and come over here young lady."

Allan's eyes flicker over to Holly. Her mouth is in a straight line, still trying to save face.

"I'm...I'm playing."

"Oh? So you have all the time in the world to be fooling around in here, while I was outside," Holly points at the door, other hand clenched in a fist. "While I was outside, running back and forth like a madwoman, searching for you. Do you have any idea, how much I was worried?"

"I made it home!" Allan retorts, throwing down her card, and getting to her feet. Any discomfort she displayed is replaced with indignance. She crosses her arms, mirroring Holly's intimidating pose. "You're just over-reacting!"

"Yeesh, yeah, forging my signature isn't a big deal." Holly shoots back, waving her hands. "As the adult here, you _will_ listen to me!"

"No!" Allan stomps her foot, in a childish manner.

The mercs only look on, albeit feeling awkward each passing second the verbal fight inches on. Sure, they had their share of fights back at the RED base, but here they were, intruding on personal affairs on a near complete stranger. They try to look distracted, Sniper, Pyro and Scout attempting to continue the game, words unspoken. Medic and Engineer shove their noses into the notes they've been taking ever since Allan arrived at the apartment. Heavy simply turns around to stare at the wall. Soldier is still heavily sedated, awake, but really out of it. Spy leans out of the single window of the apartment, smoking away. Only Demoman is saved of the awkwardness, snoozing away in the bathtub once again.

Holly throws her arms in the air, turning around and shaking her head. "Why? Why can't you understand and make my life easier?" She whips back to Allan, face stony. "Maybe your mom would let you walk around on your own, but this is my house, my rules."

"No!" Allan repeats, her ears turning a light pink.

"No? No you don't understand?!"

"NO!"

"Hey, try acting your age? For goodness sake Allan, you're eight years old!"

"No, no, no, NO!" Allan chants, stomping her foot with each shout.

This grates against Holly's nerves, at her wit's end.

"You are such a pain!"

Allan's shoulders hunch up, her ears deepening into red. Her bottom lip trembles, just for a second. She snaps out of this moment of weakness, retaliating.

"I don't even wanna be here anyway! I hate this stinky house, I hate going to school, and I hate _you!_ "

"If you hate me so much then," Holly says, her voice going quiet and deadly. "Let someone else take care of you."

Allan's ear are a violent shade of red at this point, and her eyes are shiny. Wiping her eyes, Allan turns away. "Fine! I'm going to runaway, and you'll be sorry!"

"Sure, fine by me!" Holly says, her voice taunting. "Let's see how far you'll make it! If you're gone, at least this house will be quieter!"

Trembling, Allan stomps to the bathroom. "Good! Then I don't need to be in this stupid sticky place anymore!" She forces open the door, throwing a glare containing venom at Holly. "You can be here all alone, because you're just as stinky!" _Slam!_ The door swings shut with a deafening thud.

Holly's cheeks turn red. "GO TO YOUR ROOOOOOOM!" She belts out, at the top of her lungs. At this point, the mercs couldn't ignore the fight anymore, all heads turning to Holly.

The door flies open, revealing a tearful Allan.

"I DON'T EVEN HAVE A ROOM!" She screams back.

_Slam!_

Holly takes a gigantic breath, hand on her heart. Her eyes fluttering shut, she turns around, and storms out herself.

At the same time, from the outside door and inside the bathroom, rises two muffled screams.

" _AAAAhhhhhhhhhhh!"_

" _GYAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHhhhh!"_

* * *

Sniper is sitting on the uncomfortable wooden floor. The uneven surface is digging into his bottom - but he has hung out in much more uncomfortable places. He is sitting, frozen, after the fantastic spectacle that just took place between Holly and Allan. Shamefaced, he lifts his hat, and slicks back his hair. If there was one thing Sniper always respected, it was privacy. In this very moment, he feels as if he violated it, just for being present. He sympathizes with the poor woman. She must be in an incredible load of stress, from the anklebiter giving her trouble, on top of his team hanging around her apartment.

Hearing the long screams rising from the only two doors in the apartment, he and the RED members glance over to each other.

"That was bad." Says Scout, stupidly, breaking their stunned silence.

Pyro responds by smacking him up top the head, for his poorly timed comment.

"Wha! What the hell man?! Uhm, woman? Whatever!" Scout mutters, rubbing his injury. Glancing over to the bathroom, Scout puts his hand on his neck. "Isn't Demoman still sleeping inside the tub?"

It occurs to the entire RED team that Scout was right.

"I reckon the lil' lady won't be comin' out anytime soon." Engineer comments, looking up from his notes.

The door swings open, Holly walking back inside. The mercs cease their chattering, falling quiet. They watch the woman, still red in the face, open the fridge. Sniper casts a glare to Heavy, who only gives a guilty smile. She sighs seeing the sight of an empty fridge. "I was hoping the Thanksgiving leftovers would last another week…" She turns around, and freezes up, seeing everyone's eyes trained on her. Out of respect, Sniper lowers his gaze.

"Oh...you guys are still here."

"Sorry if we're intrudin'." Apologizes Engineer, taking off his hardhat. "I reckon you must have a lotta questions."

"Yeah…" Holly echoes, hand on forehead. "Look, let's put that on hold for a second. I'm starving. How about all of you?" She says, directing the question at the team. Most answer with a simple head nod. "Right. Well, I guess now's a good time as any to use coupons…" She turns away, walking over to her desk and rummaging through its contents. "Oh and by the way. My name's Holly O' Sullivan. Sorry I haven't been able to properly introduce myself." She takes a cordless phone out of her pocket. "I've been running around all day."

"Hey, no problem!" Scout replies, his motor mouth always ready for conversation. Sniper can only hope nothing stupid will slip out of the boy's mouth.

"Just a moment you guys, I'm going to go outside and order our food." She tells the men, and walks outside.

An awkward silence fills the air.

"She is taking zhis in stride quite well." Spy points out, leaning against the window.

"Give her a break." Sniper says, scowling. Glancing over to Medic and Engineer, Sniper rises to his feet. "Wot do ya guys think we hafta do now? We can't just hang around, getting caught up with this woman…"

"I dunno Snipes. Our situation doesn't look mighty good. Think about it. We're fifty years into the future, stranded in a foreign country. We don't have money, or a home to go back to or anything. We're possibly unemployed, given that the Administrator is most likely dead. Any contacts we know sure as hell won't work now, given that they're outta date." Engineer shakes his head. "The best thing to do is stick around with Miss O' Sullivan."

"She has a lot on her plate." Sniper tries to argue. "We shouldn't get in her hair."

"As much as I agree, we really are backed into a corner. The only thing we know for certain is that the technology this woman owns is somehow connected to what we used back at home."

Sniper opens his mouth to object, but closes it. He internally sighs, leaning against the wall.

The door opens, Holly walking back inside once again. She gives a small, but forced smile at the RED team. "Welp, I ordered dinner, and I'm going to need help picking it up. Heh, so many mouths to feed…" The smile disappears into a slightly overwhelmed expression of worry. Holly turns away. "Uhm, guys that are wearing the cowboy and baseball hat, come with me?"

Sniper and Scout glance over to each other, raising their eyebrows as if to say, ' _Is she talking about me?'_

Pyro nudges both of them, hands on its hips. Despite the mask on its face, its message is as clear as day. ' _Who else you idiots?'_

Not wanting to displease the Pyro, Scout and Sniper walk over to Holly. She greets them with another small smile. Turning her head to the rest of the RED team, she says, "We all have lots of questions, so we'll talk about it over dinner. Don't cause any trouble - and keep an eye on Allan?" Holly sighs, when she mentions the little girl. "I don't want her to do anything...stupid. We'll be back."

* * *

Allan sniffles, snot and tears running uncontrollably down her face. She is breathless from the shouting match she had with Holly and the long scream of frustration she let out. Doing her best to stop the insistent flow, she turns to where she knows the toilet paper should be - and sprawled out in the bathtub is an unconscious brown skinned man with an eyepatch. Allan gasps, stepping back. She thinks about going back outside - but not wanting to see Holly, she stays put.

Wiping her nose and eyes, Allan edges closer to the sleeping man. A bottle is clenched in his hands - Allan recognizes as one of Holly's 'adult drinks' meaning it's a big no-no for her. Curiosity gets the best of her, and she is at the man's side. Hesitant, she pokes the man's cheek. It is rough and stubbly. The man makes no reaction, snoring soundly. Allan looks closer at his face, wondering what she should call this weirdo.

_He looks like a pirate. I'm going to call him Captain Hook._

Allan pokes the man's cheek once again. This time, he moans, and bats Allan's hand away. Rolling over, Captain Hook returns to his nap.

All anger and grief from her fight with Holly vanishes, replaced with curiosity and determination. If Hook was really a pirate, maybe she should wake him up and ask. But how? Allan steps back, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully. Her eyes land on the showerhead. Her expression brightens, an idea possessing her. She reaches for the faucets, and flips it upwards, pushing the knob inwards.

Cold water sprays from the showerhead, drizzling all over Captain Hook.

His one eye flies open, and he sputters on the water.

"AYE, wat in th' bloody hazes?!" Struggling to get up, Captain Hook, lifts himself up. He totters a bit, unbalanced. "Christ, th' hole world is spinnin'..." Eye rolling backward, Hook rolls off the edge of the bathtub, landing on the floor wetly. Allan watches, in a bit of childish awe. Captain Hook really did sound like a pirate! She kneels, and cocks her head. Hook is out cold on the floor, drenched.

"Weirdo, can you wake up?" She asks, nudging him.

His eye flies open once again, and he sharply sits up. "Brrr!" He shivers, shaking some water off him. Allan grins, seeing him finally awake, and goes over to shut off the water. "Wha? Wat happened…?" The cold water bringing him to his senses, his one eye lands on Allan, who is looking expectantly at him. He recognizes the lad, from when the child entered the apartment and began playing Candyland with the Pyro, Scout, and Sniper. "Erm...hullo, little wee one."

"Hi! Are you a pirate?"

Demoman blinks.

"No, sorry laddie."

The child's face falters, smile disappearing.

"A'am somethin' much better than any ol' pirate!"

The lad frowns, looking uncertain. "Better than a pirate?"

"O' course! A'am a demoman! A bludy good one, too!"

"Demo...man?"

"Ye! As in demo-lition man? I get ta' explode things with bombs an' ev'rything!"

"Bombs? As in explosions?" The lad's face is starting to shift back to interest.

"Exactly!" Demoman shouts. "Ye young laddies and lassies like explosions these days, right? Eh, what do I know? Haven't bin exactly up ta date with th' times." He chuckles to himself, a bit from madness, when he recalls how he and his RED team been sent through time and stranded in America. Mad. The entire situation is mad. But, this is what he signed up for to join his crazy family business…

"I guess that's cool." Says the child, disappointment still tugging at her lips.

"What is yer name, laddie?"

"Allan. And if you're not a pirate, what's your name?"

"Demo. T'at will do."

"You talk real funny, like a pirate."

"Well o' course! A'am a Scottish cyclops for above's sake!"

"Why d'ya have an eyepatch?"

Demo's expression darkens when Allan touches this subject. Racking his numb and drunkened mind for an excuse, thankfully he comes up with one.

"Little one, I think you ought'ta exit th' washroom. Gotta take a piss."

Allan raises an eyebrow at Demo's vocabulary, 'piss' not in her child knowledge yet. Demo mentally facepalms himself.

"Erm, y'know. Ah have tae make water." He points at the toilet.

Allan's eyes widen with realization.

"Ohhh. Okay."

He turns towards the door, ready to get out of Demoman's hair. But the child stops, and lowers his head.

"...I don't want to go back out there."

"Ah don't want ye watchin' me tak' a piss!"

"You can hold it, can't you?" Allan crosses his arms, frowning at the Demoman. He runs his hand over his face, and raises the bottle to his lips. It's incredibly weak next to Scrumpy. But he'll take anything that has alcohol in it. Tilting it, no liquid pours into his mouth. A frustrated growl rises out of Demo's throat. Wonderful, he's stuck in the bathroom with a too-curious kid and ran out of drink.

"Why don't ye want tae git out?"

Allan looks at his feet, looking shy all of the sudden.

"...fight with my aunt…"

"Wat's that? Couldn'ta hear ye laddie!"

"I had a fight." Allan repeats, looking up. "With Holly, my aunt."

"Why's that wee one?"

"She started it!" Allan huffs, pouting. "She was freaking out over nothing, just cuz I walked home by myself."

"One so small and tiny yer age?" Demo puts a hand on Allan's head, comparing his height.

"I'm not _that_ short!"

"Don't lie to ye-self little one!"

Allan crosses his arm, glaring at Demoman.

He raises his arms in defense. "Alright, alright, carry on with ye tale!"

"Well...yeah. We screamed and shouted and stuff. Aunt Holly's being so annoying lately."

"Annoying or not, she's ye family. She's ye blood. She's ye elder."

"Blood?" Allan twists his face, confused.

"Wat I'm sayin' here, Allan boy-o, is that th' elders _always_ get thar way."

"I hate being a kid." Allan sniffs, head held high. "Nobody around me ever listens me, just cuz I'm short and I'm a kid."

"Hey, hey, don't ye say that! As ye grow up, laddie, yer gonna miss ye young glory days…" Demo's single eye goes hazy with distant memory.

"Easy for you to say. You're a grown-up yourself."

"A grown-up who ha'dly has his life together. Besides. Even if ye auntie is angry with ye, she won't be like that fer long. Family members always forgive an' forget." Demoman wondered what place he had to tell some kid about how to handle family matters. His whole family is a mess - at least, what's left of it. His grip tightens around the neck of the empty wine bottle. If only he had an extra bottle of Scrumpy.

"I don't get it." Allan says dubiously, perplexed.

"Aye." Demoman massages his forehead, feeling the haze of a hangover buzzing in the back of his head. These days, it seems his entire life is a godforsaken hangover.

"Whatever. I guess I have to leave and do my homework…"

Finally, Allan leaves the washroom.

Demo sighs with relief, setting himself down on the toilet. His head is pounding, and his stomach churning. Maybe he really would need to use the bathroom - he'll upchuck whatever's in his stomach in a matter of a few seconds. Ah for pity, he certainly dodged a bullet there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done! So we finally and properly meet Holly and Allan O’ Sullivan. Aren’t they just the greatest? (I inspired their fight scene based off Nani and Lilo. Now that I think about it, Holly and Allan’s relationship is inspired based off of Nani and Lilo. You guys know what I’m sayin’?)
> 
> God, I feel like each time I write a chapter, it gets even longer in length. Can you guys handle such ridiculously long chapters? Or is this overwhelming? I wanna make your reading experience as enjoyable as possible! Be honest with me readers - am I dragging things out? (believe me this is not my intention. I just end up making the chapters so large that I don’t want too much information to be stuffed in it) Is the pacing just right?
> 
> Tell me your thoughts, your suggestions, your concerns! There’s always room for improvement for me as a writer! I will see you, in the next chapter!


	5. Let's See the Bigger Picture...

**A/N: *CRASHES THROUGH WINDOW* Hey, hey, hey, and I’m back with another chapter! I didn’t mean to update this fanfiction a month from its last update...but real life is a jerk, and it demands for me to be in a strict relationship with it. *heaves a huge-ass chapter in front of the readers* Will this chapter make up for it?**

**~Chapter Five~**

Holly is no stranger walking around at night in the city streets. She remembers her trepidations through the night all too well from working overtime at her job. She had to suck it up, though. Always carry a pepper spray, never walk around with earbuds in, and stay near crowded places. Those are Holly’s golden rules to not getting screwed over in the city. That’s New York life for you. Bottom line, as long as Holly followed these conditions, she certainly will walk out of her house as late as midnight just to get pizza. So, if it costs less without delivery, she’ll take it!

For tonight, she probably didn’t need to worry about something like that with _the_ Scout and Sniper accompanying her. Holly clutches a couple of boxes of pizzas, a small bag of groceries hanging loosely from her right wrist. _With ten people to feed, I’m probably going to have to do a bigger spree in the future._ Holly internally groans, lightheaded at the thought of spending anything over fifty dollars in one week. At this rate, she’ll have to be realistic - she’ll spend more than fifty dollars with the TF2 mercs crashing her apartment.

Thankfully Holly didn’t really had the chance to actually _talk_ with Scout and Sniper. While waiting for the pizza, Sniper seemed content being left alone with his thoughts. Scout was busy trying to flirt with a couple of girls waiting for pizza (emphasis on trying). Now, a silence fills the air between the three. _Still can’t get over it. Fan-freaking characters from a video game are walking right next to me. I hope they’re not just really well dressed cosplayers. Wait, what am I saying, of course I do! Ugh, what am I even thinking anymore?_

 

Holly sneaks a glance to Sniper and Scout. She meets the gaze of Sniper, who happened to be looking at her too.

 

Widening her eyes and reflexively smiling, Holly immediately looks away. _Nope. Nope it’s too weird, I’m not sure if I’m ready for interaction. Why am I immediately assuming they’re from a video game anyway?_ Holly ponders hard on today’s crazy events, everything a blur of confusion. _They just appeared out of nowhere after my computer completely malfunctioned...and they seem to be just as confused as me. It’s too genuine for them to be cosplayers. If they are cosplayers, they’re taking their acting to a scary level._

 

Her thoughts wander, and she finds herself thinking which member of the TF2 mercs was her “favorite.”

 

Gameplay wise, she had to say it was the Soldier, given how easy he was to play. Holly cracks a smile at her earliest attempts to play each of the classes. She failed terribly for each one of them - she wasn’t sneaky enough to be the Spy, Scout moved too fast, Heavy moved too slow, as Demoman she placed bombs in terrible places, it was too exhausting to play the Medic, it was too stressful to play the Engineer, it was difficult killing people with headshots as Sniper, and she kept on getting killed as the Pyro since its class requires getting close to enemies.

Character design wise, Holly took a liking to Spy. He was one of the first classes she attempted to play as when she first discovered Team Fortress 2 (even though she repeatedly failed playing as him properly). He looked so out of place besides the other hulking and wild mercs - sleek, professional, and well dressed.

Personality wise - well, there wasn’t much fictional material to go off of for TF2. Holly’s only source for their “canon” personalities is solely based off the Meet the Team videos and the _Expiration Date_ one-shot. _Guess I have to say I’m stuck between Sniper and Spy._ Holly finally decides. She quickly casts a glance to Scout and Sniper.

Scout is yapping his head off, Sniper stuck in the one-sided conversation with the talkative merc. From the videos, Sniper seemed to be fleshed out more than his other teammates, giving Holly some clues about his character and backstory. On the other hand there’s Spy, an interesting enigma, with a hidden heart of gold.

_Dang, now that I think of it, I’m gonna probably spend time with the mercs on a more personal level. With them being stuck in the real world and all…_ Holly bites her lip, not sure if she has excited about such a prospect.  _I dunno about that though, because most of them seem absolutely crazy from the videos. They ARE a bunch of murdering stabby-stab sociopaths...Dang it all, why couldn’t have characters from Steven Universe or Gravity Falls or Captain America dropped in my apartment? At least I can be sure they won’t hurt me - or anyone else for that matter!_

 

“Soooo, Miss O’Sullivan?” Scout’s Brooklyn and/or Boston addled accented voice breaks the awkwardness. “You’re pretty young for a mom.”

 

Holly lifts her head, frowning at Scout. Sniper is looking at him as well, and Scout flinches at whatever expression the Australian is making at him.

 

“What? Mom?” Holly echoes, processing Scout’s statement. Realizing the question, her face twists up and shakes her head back and forth. “Nononono. Anything but _that_. I’m Allan’s aunt. But, now that I think about it,” She sighs, shaking her head. “I might as well be. Also, no need to call me ‘miss.’ Holly’s just fine.”

 

“Okay, ehm, _Holly._ Where’s da mom? Ouch!” Scout jumps, nearly dropping the pizza boxes he was carrying, from Sniper’s sudden kick to his shins. Holly cracks a smile at this interaction - either from Sniper being concerned for her privacy or Scout really being a blabber mouth as he appeared in TF2 canon.

 

“She takes care of Allan during the weekends, so thankfully I can catch a break.”

 

“You guys sure had one hell of a screaming match earlier.”

 

“Oh, you have no idea.” Holly half smiles at memories of other fights she had with Allan in the past - it fades. Lately she and Allan had been doing nothing _but_ fighting lately. Her spirits dampening for a moment, Holly decides to change the subject.

 

“Erm, so. What are your names? We haven’t really introduced ourselves, y’know? You know my name, but I don’t...know yours.” Holly chooses her words as carefully as possible, averting her eyes from both of the men.

 

Her mind is bouncing. _I mean, I can’t just come out of nowhere and tell these two that they come from a video game. I gotta tell all of the mercs - wait, should I even tell them at all? How in the hecks are they gonna react? Telling someone that their entire existence is fictional isn’t a normal conversational topic!_

 

Scout and Sniper pause as well.

 

 _Do they even have names?_ This question pops up in Holly’s mind, randomly. Funny how she and thousands of fans of TF2 simply accepted the mercs being called by their positions in warfare, rather than their real names.

 

“Mundy’ll do.” Sniper finally says.

 

Holly tilts her ear to his direction, surprised at finally hearing his voice for the first time from this pizza expedition. His voice is gravelly and low, riddled with a thick Australian accent.

 

“Mundy? Huh, okay.” Holly repeats, nodding her head encouragingly.

 

“See well - it’s just that - we don’t usually - OOF!” Another kick to the shin. “Just call me Doug!”

 

Holly takes note of the hesitance tugging at both Scout’s and Sniper’s features. _Maybe they don’t usually call each other by their real names._

 

“So...Mundy.” Holly takes a little breath, almost slipping up by calling him Sniper. “Do you really need to carry your, uhm, kukuri around?”

 

All Sniper does is nod to show his response, and glances down to check if his melee weapon is still there. Thankfully it’s sheathed in a case, so bystanders won’t see the blade. Holly gulps, a bit uncomfortable at the man’s taciturn demeanor. _He’s not much of a talker._

 

“Pfft, try telling da bushman naught to carry ‘round any weapons. He’s almost as paranoid as Spy - YOWCCCH!”

 

Scout trips, pizza boxes flying out of his arms. He lands on the ground ungracefully, a heap of skinny limbs. Fortunately the pizzas are safe in their containers still, save for one, which Scout is sitting on top of.   


“Da hell was dat for?!” He shouts, glaring at Sniper.

 

Sniper responds by giving the glare of the century.

 

Holly lightly chuckles, saving face. _I just gotta act like I didn’t hear what Scout said._

 

Grumbling, Scout gathers the pizza, including the smashed one.

 

“Good one piss-hands, you made me ruined a perfectly good pizza!”

 

Oh dear God, who is Holly kidding. One way or another, the mercs weren’t going to be none too happy when they find out about their true origins…She should’ve bought more aspirin earlier to prepare herself for the madness to come.

* * *

Spy traces the surface of the desk. He examines the tips of his gloves. Only dust. No signs surveillance cameras, detectable drugs, or foul play. So far. One can never be too sure or safe, especially in a distorting situation where the Respawn malfunctioned.

 

 _Why of all places would zhe machine send us ‘ere?_ Spy muses to himself. _Ees zhere zum connection to zhis particular location?_

 

Every stranger was a spy to Spy - his code in life. Meanwhile, his imbeciles for teammates are sitting around, oblivious. Careless attitudes like theirs will only lead them to death. Spy is not careless, or lazy for that matter. Ignoring some of their jesting sneers, Spy proceeds to open some of the drawers in the desk. Useless clutter like pencils, pens, and crumpled up papers fill them up. Finally, in the bottom drawer, he discovers stacks of black notebooks. This discovery piquing his interest, he picks one of them up.

 

“That’s Holly’s sketchbook.” The child, Allan points out, frowning at Spy.

 

She is sitting at a fold up table, textbooks and notebooks spread out in front of her. Not too long after Ms. O’Sullivan left, the little girl ventured out of the bathroom and settled herself outside. She didn’t care much for the mercs’ presence, vice versa for the REDs. Pyro is happily coloring the walls from the markers she lent it, Engineer and Medic are discussing theories on the Respawn malfunctions. Overall, both the girl and the mercs took such odd situations in a peaceful stride.

Dark gray eyes stare at Spy with indignance. Distaste twinges in Spy’s mind. He faintly recalls why he isn’t too fond of children. Selfish and too-honest little people, always full of energy. A reminder of what could have been...

 

Spy ignores the child’s statement, examining the book in his hands. On the cover scrawled in blocky handwriting reads, _Holly’s Book of Stuff._

 

“That’s Holly’s.”

 

“ _Oui._ Your point, petit?”

 

“She just doesn’t like people looking through her journal.” Shrugs Allan. No longer paying attention to Spy, she starts gathering her books into her bag. Once packing everything, she slings it over her shoulder and heads towards the door.

 

“Where d’ya think you’re going little lady?” Engineer asks, putting his hands on his hips like some concerned mother.

 

Spy rolls his eyes, rolling the cigarette between his teeth. The toymaker certainly makes it no secret that children are his weakness. What the Southerner could see in children, Spy couldn’t fathom. They are ‘cute’ to look at, but actually interacting with the miniature humans is a headache.

 

“Going to Mr. Khan’s. He’s our neighbor, downstairs.” Without so much of a goodbye, Allan is already out the door.

 

“Think we oughta let the kiddo go?” Engineer asks this question to no-one in particular. He rubs the bald surface of his head, looking at the door where Allan left, concern wrinkling his forehead.

 

“Let zhe child be. Eet is better for her to be out of my ‘air.” Spy says, flipping open the notebook. He thumbs through the pages, frowning at the contents. Many pages were filled with pencil or pen sketchings of faceless people, incomplete torsos, or unfinished hands. There are some notes scribbled under some the drawings.

 

_LOL how do i draw?_

_these hands look like GARBAGE_

_ASJKJKSHDAJKSHASKJ_

_HOW DO I EVEN EVEN?_

 

Spy frowns, scratching his chin. What sort of code is the woman trying to use in her drawings? None that he can decipher, so far. And her grammar was terrible. English is sometimes a challenge for Spy, but he knew enough that the sentences scrawled inside the books are laughably improper. He flips through the pages even more, passing by some colored sketches of superheroes like Flash or Captain America, crudely drawn stick figures with little to no effort, and dozens of comic strips.

He was about to put down the book seeing there is nothing worth noting, but flips one more page. The drawings are different this time - recognizable to Spy. _So my suspicions were correct._

Sketched on the page is... _him_ . With a careful hand of detail, he is leaning against a wall, smoking. In another section of the page, a dramatic speech bubble reads ‘ _SEDUCE ME_!’, drawn next to a sketch of Spy yelling.

Outwardly, Spy’s features are still unreadable as he skims the pages. Inwardly however, he is flipping out. He remembers saying that particular statement to Scout in his dating sessions - ugh, why did he say such a vulgar thing?! Another section nearly made Spy rip out the page - a loose and unfinished drawing of Spy and Scout’s Ma - _Joanne_ \- dancing. How could a stranger know this classified information?!

Gripping the sketchbook, Spy flips another page. There were dozens of more drawings of the RED team. Demoman high-fiving Scout, Medic wearing one of his trademark insane smiles, Heavy wearing glasses and reading a book, Sniper looking through his scope, Soldier screaming on top of his lungs accompanied with dramatic speech bubbles, Pyro skipping through a field of flowers, Engineer reclining on a chair...the drawings go on and on; drawn in either pencil or pen.

 

Having seen enough, Spy straightens his tie and clears his throat.

 

“Gentlemen, I ‘ave made a disturbing discovery.” Spy announces, flipping shut the notebook once recomposing himself. The other six mercs in the room glance up, Spy more or less having their full attention. Narrowing his eyes, he takes his cigarette out of his mouth.

 

“Zhis woman,” He lifts the black notebook, for emphasis. “Knows much more zhan she lets on.”

 

A dramatic pause ensues, Spy’s sentence sinking in.

 

“So ye were digging through her mince?”

 

“Mmmph, mmmmphhh!”

 

“For a necessary cause.” Glares Spy, irked by the lackluster reaction.

 

“Whaddya blabberin’ on ‘bout Spah?”

 

“Take a look.” He tosses the sketchbook carelessly to Engineer and the others, not wanting to waste breath.

 

The book lands on the table, where Medic and Engineer were sitting. They lean in, looking at the contents of the pages. The other mercs peer over their shoulders, just as curious.

 

“MOTHER OF _GOD!”_ Soldier shatters the silence, as the other mercs absorb this new information. Startled, everyone turns to him. “...I cannot read!” He declares, his speech still a bit slurred from a syringe-full of sedatives pumped into his bloodstream.

 

Spy resists the urge to slap his cheek out of frustration.

 

“Zhose are _drawings_ you eediot!”

 

“I vonder if zis voman could draw ein detailed version of the human anatomy...I do struggle drawing hands…” Medic muses out loud, straightening his glasses.

 

Spy growls, exasperated.

 

“Do you fools not realize what zhese drawings imply?”

 

“I’ll be gosh-darned Spah…” Engineer comments, scratching the top of his hardhat. Out of all the mercs present, Engineer at least matched the definition of intelligence. “Maybe ya are onto somethin’...”

 

“See?” The espionage says, triumphantly, his ego inflating just-a-bit-slightly hearing Engineer acknowledge his suspicions.

 

“Aye see, but wat do ye want us ta do, Frenchman.” Demoman sniffs, sprawled carelessly on the floor.

 

“We must squeeze zhe information out of ‘er, zhat is what I am implying ‘ere.”

 

“Squeeze?” Heavy furrows his eyebrows, his face scrunched. “Ve vill use force? Shapeshifter, Heavy does not feel voman iz danger.”

 

Some of the other mercs murmur, assent.

 

“What?” Spy scoffs, disgusted at the hesitation on his each of his teammate’s faces. “You do not want to ‘urt ‘er, because she ees a _woman?_ Spare me your chivalry. Everyone in zhis room got zheir hands stained with blood. And do not claim you do not enjoy some of zhe ‘einous crimes we commit.” He clasps his hand behind his back, sucking the end of his cigarette. “Unlike all of you, I do not take discovering such startling information lightly. Zhis woman obviously ‘olds something over our ‘eads, and I will not let eet slip by. We need _answers._ ”

The mercs take another moment to contemplate Spy’s ominous warning. Pyro gives a muffled sigh, drooping. It never appreciated moments where its friends are upset and arguing. Engineer’s forehead is wrinkled with contemplation, the man internally calculating the very few options the mercs have. Medic taps his chin, finally putting up face to look somber. Heavy’s thick arms are crossed firmly across his chest, grimness etched into his face. Seeing everyone so serious, Soldier straightens his back rigidly; despite being totally clueless.

Heavy is the one to speak first. “I vould like to return to base as urgently possible. Sisters and mother are vaiting, home.” Satisfied with stating his desire, Heavy eases back into crossing his arms.

 

Seeing Heavy voice his opinion, Medic shrugs. “Zhere are much experiments avaiting me at Teufort. Ach, it vould be convenient if ve get back quickly.”

 

“Mmmmpph, mphhhh.”

 

“AFFIRMATIVE!” Soldier shouts, using inside voices not in his capabilities. “I agree with the ladder!”

 

“It’s pronounced ‘latter’, Solly.” Grumbles Demoman from his corner. “Aye, I agree in th’ end. One way o’ another, we must get back ta th’ Red Base.”

 

Engineer is silent, resting his elbows on his knees, listening to the other’s two cents of the situation. This is what he tends to do - listen to everybody else, take account of all the options, and compromise. Spy watches, tapping his watch. There was certainly no need for hesitance, because he could easily predict what Engineer’s conclusion will be. Why must he be so soft?

“...A’right. Y’all have a point. This is the first lead we finally found - I s’pose there’s no point in beatin’ round the bush. But ain’t no way we can jump so fast to conclusions that Miss O’Sullivan holds any bad-will t’wards any of us. Before I let ya interrogate the lady, Spah,” The Southerner addresses Spy warily, his hesitance still apparent despite the red goggles strapped over his eyes. “Lemme talk to her, and she how’ll she’ll react.”

Spy snorts. “Of course toymaker, let us all sit down and chat and talk about our feelings. Zat method ees promising. No matter.” He flicks his cigarette out of the window, exhaling a train of smoke. “I will let you have your way. In zhe end, you shall all see.” Spy narrows his eyes, seeing three figures walking across the street, towards the building.

 

“Zhe things I do in order to ensure protection.” He mutters darkly, turning away from the window.

* * *

Holly walks up the flight of stairs, Scout and Sniper trailing behind.

 

“Dis place stinks! Like, a weird kinda stink!”

 

“You better get used to it. My apartment _is_ built above an Indian cuisine restaurant, afterall…”

 

“Wot is that smell, anyways?”

 

“Curry.” Holly grimaces when she utters the word. Seeing the questioning looks on Sniper’s and Scout’s faces, she is quick for an explanation. “It’s an Indian dish usually made of shrimp or chicken sauce. It’s spicy, most of the times. It’s pretty good - if you don’t eat nothing but curry for a month straight…” She shudders, not sure if she could handle the thought of even putting eating another spoonful. Mr. Khan meant well, but over and over, one after another, it’s curry, curry, _curry!_ Though she spent a pretty penny on the pizzas, leaving her wallet thirty dollars shorter, but gosh darn if it wasn’t a welcome change of scenery.

_Allan’s gonna be happy. If she isn’t going to throw the silent treatment at me._ Holly sighs inwardly. Video game characters crashing her apartment or not; she still has to go to work tomorrow...Too many responsibilities waiting to be done. Yep, definitely should have bought aspirin when she had the chance.

 

“Think your friends would like pizza?” Holly asks, digging through her purse. “They better, cuz it’s pretty much all I have for dinner. Besides curry, if Mr. Khan made his special delivery today.”

 

“Khan...ya mean dat old man I met with Spyyyaaaack…” Scout stumbles. “Spack. Yeah, one of my friends, _Spack._ ”

 

It’s a good thing Holly isn’t facing Sniper and Spy, or else she would have really started laughing. _Geez, Scout is a terrible liar!_ Holly thinks, biting down a smile and trying to choke her giggles. Finally she finds the key.

 

“Ya know, one of, uhm my _friends_ \- yeah, we met da geezer earlier! He gave us some of dat stuff!”

 

Holly groans, turning the lock.

 

“Figures.”

 

She pushes the door open, managing to keep the pizza boxes balanced on the other arm. She, Sniper, and Scout enter the apartment.

 

Entering, Sniper immediately senses something is... _different_ about the atmosphere. His teammates are all standing up, leaning against the wall or brooding. All of their gazes are trained on Holly, neutral or distrustful. Many of their arms are crossed on their chests, power poses imposing intimidation.

He raises his eyebrows, trying to meet anyone of the other mercs’ gazes. They do not meet his. He glances back at Scout, the Bostanian making a face at the other members auras. Heavy slips from his place, moving his bulky frame in front of the doorway. Meanwhile, Holly is completely oblivious to the hostility of the RED team. She opens a pizza box, revealing a steaming circle of the cheesy dish.

 

“I bought mostly cheese, since I’m not sure what you guys actually like, you know?”

 

“Many thanks, Miss O’Sullivan.” Engineer’s hard-hat is on, rested on his knees.

 

“Hey, hey, no need to be so formal! Holly is just fine!” She says to everyone in the room, side-smiling. “Though, it’s a nice change of pace to see so many of you are gentlemen - hey, where did Allan go?”

 

“Lassie said something o’bout going to a Mr. Khan?”

 

Holly sighs. “Hm, so she really is going to carry this grudge, huh? Too bad for her it’s pizza night.”

 

“Thank ya, miss. Much appreciated for the food.” He pauses. “I’ma be straight wih ya. Miss Holly, d’ya know somethin’ we don’t?”

 

Holly stops in the middle of opening another pizza box. Sniper watches closely, jittering his right foot. His instincts definitely tell him something is up with the mercs - but there is no apparent danger. Yet. She tilts her head at Engineer’s question.

 

“...What do you mean by that?”

 

“We found a sketchbook of yours, and I’m mighty sorry that one of mah friends,” Engineer passes a glare to Spy. He is leaning against the wall, smoking as usual. “Have been digging through your things. But he found a sketchbook…” Sniper raises an eyebrow at the shady agent. Of course. The French frog must be planning _something._ What, Sniper can’t be sure. “And we found some drawings of us…”

 

Holly is facing Engineer, her expression open to everyone in the apartment. Her eyebrows are raised, her mouth slightly hanging open. She’s surprised?

 

“Can ya care to explain that?”

 

“I - I - maybe? I dunno?”

 

 _Is she hiding something from us?_ Sniper wonders, starting to understand the hostility his teammates suddenly possess.

 

Spy finally makes his move, creeping in. Sniper compares it to a snake and a hare - Spy is moving in for the kill. His trademark butterfly knife is clutched in his right hand behind his back.

 

_Wait? Is he actually gonna stab her?!_

 

Sniper whips out kukuri in a flash.

 

“Stop roight there, _mate._ ”

 

Hearing Sniper growl with such contempt, Holly turns around. She gasps, hands flying to her heart, when the first thing she sees is the sight of a sharp blade. Spy is unmoved by Sniper’s threatening reaction or Holly’s distress, keeping his grip on the butterfly knife steady. Spy’s face hardly moves from emotion, if he felt any at all. He stares icily at Holly.

 

“Miss O’Sullivan, you _are_ ‘iding something from us.”

 

A pause.

 

“W-w-what do y-you mean?”

 

“Hesitance is weakness, _mademoiselle_.”

 

“What da actual hell, Spy?!” Scout throws his pizza boxes on the floor, raising his fists. “Da fuck is your problem?!”

 

“Step down, boy!” Barks Soldier, gripping Scout.

 

Sniper keeps his blade trained on Spy. He side-eyes everyone, his mouth curled in disgust.

 

“Sniper, calm down now -”

 

“I come back here, and yer dirty lot is pulling some ruddy trick fer no good-apparent reason. I’m not gonna let you do _anything_ to _anyone_ if you don’t have a damned good bloody reason for it.”

 

Spy snorts, hardly breaking a sweat. Holly is trembling. Scout is struggling against Soldier’s grip. Sniper is glaring at Spy.

 

“Please, bushman. Do not try to act like some _‘ero._ Zhis woman ees not innocent as you zhink.” Spy’s hand is steady on the butterfly knife, a couple of inches away from Holly’s throat. With one quick slash, she’ll be choking on her own blood. “Take a look at zhe contents of ‘er notebook, and you will ‘ave questions you need answered.” He pulls a notebook out of his suit - how it fit in there, Sniper won’t bother to think too much of it - and throws it on the floor. The French bastard always had a flair for unnecessary drama.

 

Sniper flits his eyes back and forth between the book and Spy, knowing full well he should never take his eyes off of a Spy.

 

Finally, Sniper crouches, squinting at the pages through his orange-tinted lenses. In fine detail, the page smudged with a fair share of pencil, and erase marks evident - there is a portrait of Sniper. He is talking into a payphone, his expression frustrated. A speech bubble is right next to the drawing reading, _‘Look dad, I’m not a crazed gunman. I’m an assassin!’_ Sniper lowers his kukri, shoulders drawn up to his ears.

 

His hat is blocking his upper view, but Sniper doesn’t even need to look at Spy to know he is slightly smiling as if to say, _I told you so._

 

Holly’s face crumples when she sees Sniper lower his blade, his posture completely freezing up. _They found my pictures? Oh god, they found my TF2 drawings. Crap. Crap. How am I gonna explain that?_

 

Scout is still fighting against Soldier’s iron grip.

 

“C’mon Spy! She’s an aunt! She has a kid!”

 

“I dealt with men and women who ‘ad families, and zhey ‘appened to be zhe most vile scumbags I ‘ad the misfortune of meeting. Shut your mouth, and let someone do zhe talking for once. Now,” Spy turns his cold gaze upon Holly. Her jaw trembling, and she made it no secret she was hyperventilating. Either she was an incredibly good actor, or the woman loses herself to pressure easily. No matter. Either way, Spy _will_ get the information he needs. He always does.

 

“We do not take kindly for some stranger to ‘old such...sensitive information about us. Cooperate, and I can guarantee we will leave you with at least all of your fingers and teeth intact.”

 

Holly is breathing. She is breathing, but it is so difficult to keep it even. Her mouth is dry, her palms clammy, and she is shaking. _A knife. He has a knife. He has a freaking knife that he wants to stab me with! They’re crazy!_ Holly looks at all of the mercs, struggling to breath. _They really are, yours truly, CRAZY!_ Her hand reaches backwards, and the gooey surface of the pizza sticks to her palm.

 

“F-fine...I’ll co-operate.” Holly slumps her shoulders, lowering her head; defeated. She closes her hand. “Let me say just one thing, though…”

 

“What will zat be?” Spy dryily asks, indulging her request.

 

“You’re a pizza.”

 

Spy pauses, scrunching his eyebrows, wondering if he heard the woman right.  
  
“Miss O’Sullivan, do not waste our time with such nonsensical -!”

 

“ _A PIZZA GARBAGE_!”

 

“AAAGH!”

The next thing Spy knew, his vision is blinded with a warm slice of pizza. The salty scent of tomato sauce invades his nostrils, some cheese enters his mouth (it was so fake and artificial, Spy wanted to vomit), and he cringes imagining the pizza grease getting absorbed into the pricey material of his balaclava. Dropping the knife, Spy’s hands flies to his face to wipe off the cheesy mess.

Seeing that he is fully distracted, Holly flies to action. She pushes her way past Spy, and blindly runs for the bathroom door. Some of the mercs try grabbing her, but she manages to dive out of their grasp, and shuts herself in the bathroom.

The reactions are mixed. Engineer, Sniper, and Demoman stand there having a, _‘Wow, did that seriously just happened?’_ moment. Soldier is quick to resort to violence, screaming at the door, demanding Holly to open it in the, ‘name of America!’ Medic gets the pun fifteen seconds too late, cackling awkwardly when he realizes the lame wordplay. Heavy is frowning at the pizza stuck on Spy’s face, thinking it was a waste of food. All the while, Scout is laughing his ass off.

 

“HA! _Pizza-garbage!_ Neva saw dat comin’!”

 

With as much dignity as Spy could muster, he wipes the pizza off his face. His eyes are squeezed shut, cheese and tomato sauce encrusting them.

 

“Who does she zhink she ees?” Spy seethes through clenches teeth, taking out a handkerchief and wiping the mess out of his eyes as best as possible. “ZHIS BALACLAVA AND SUIT COMBINED COSTED ME THREE GRAND!” He screeches, stomping his foot and completely losing his cool.

 

If there’s one thing that could make Spy absolutely lose his shit - it would be messing up his oh-so-expensive Italy-imported suits in any shape or form. The rest of the RED team look on at the fantastic spectacle, drinking Spy’s mental breakdown with smugness. Hardly the arrogant espionage lets himself slip up in front of his teammates, claiming he is far ‘superior’ above showing his emotions. Lo and behold, look who was so high now?

 

“Serves you freaking right. Say Spy, was dat pizza delicious?”

 

“COME ‘ERE SO I CAN WRING YOUR SCRAWNY LITTLE NECK!”

 

“Quit it, ya two!” Engineer’s usually smooth voice raises above the chaos, now containing a hardened edge. His goggles are hiding his eyes and eyebrows, but the anger in Engineer’s tone is unmistakable. “We tried following your way Spah - but it only caused more harm than any sorta usefulness at all! We musta scared the pants off of the sorry lady!”

 

Heavy steps in, managing to grab Spy by his neck like a dog on a leash. Scout skids to a stop, keeling over.

 

“Nyah-nyah-nyah, not so superior, aint’cha?! W-whoa! HEY!” Scout standing still, Heavy seizes the chance to grab him by his collar. The younger merc kicks his legs, but thrashing does him no good. He and Spy are caught by the Heavy, and there was no chance in hell they were getting out of his iron grip.

 

“If Scout and Spy act like babies, Heavy vill treat zem so.”

 

“‘Ow can you be so sure you are right, toymaker?” Spy tries to put on a dignified posture, but suspended three feet above the floor covered in the leftovers of pizza certainly did not help his case. Tomato sauce coats his eyebrows - ugh, Spy can feel it seeping into the surface of his skin. “She could very well be putting up a facade.”

 

“Cuz ain’t no person can be up to any shady business if they react like that, scared outta their wits! She’s just a normal lady!” Engineer shakes his head. Spy rolls his eyes, as childish as it was. Meanwhile, Soldier rages on at the locked door. “Enough of this madness!” Engineer grumbles, and pushes the still hollering Soldier out of the way.

The other man leaps to his feet, looking like he was going to scream yet another protest. Next moment, Soldier is reduced to indecipherable grunts, seeing Pyro’s expressionless mask looming at him from the distance. Engineer leans his ear against the bathroom door - inside he can hear Holly hyperventilating.

 

“Miss O’Sullivan?” He tries, opening the door, finding out quickly that it’s locked. “C’mon, open the door, will ya? Spy really didn’t mean any harm...well, maybe he did, but still.”

 

 _“No! No freaking way! Y-you a-a-are all_ insane _!”_

 

“I s’pose that’s true in some ways Miss, but I assure ya, I won’t let any of the boys lay a finger on ya. We just want some answers, that’s all.”

 

Holly does not reply. She is breathing funny, fast and uneven. Engineer can just imagine the poor girl huddled in the corner of the washroom, staring at the door where a bunch of for-all-she-knew-maniacs waiting outside. Clicking his teeth, he turns to the mercs, glaring particularly at Spy.

 

“See what ya did?” Engineer points at the door, other hand curled into a fist. “Ya got us absolutely nowhere!”

 

“I did what needed to be done.” Spy replies airily.

 

“Fat load of help you did.” Shots back Engineer.

 

“Ya didn’t even bother to tell me and Scout what yer were planning to do!” Sniper steps in, teeth clenched. “And oi want some goddamn answers,” The Australian merc raises the sketchbook, snarling. “About this woman!”

 

Heavy finally releases Scout and Spy, the two plopping ungracefully on the floor. Scout scrambles to his feet, straightening his cap and dog-tag chain.

 

“Yeah, dat’s right!” Scout raises his fists at Spy. “Ya think you’re some slick lone wolf?”

 

“I might as well work alone.” Spy brushes his shoulders. He glares at everyone in the room through his ruined balaclava. “Eet would be better working alone, rather zhan with you dysfunctional lot.”

 

“Hey, who ya calling diz-functional?!”

 

“Eet would ‘elp if you looked zat up in zhe dictionary, no?”

 

“Again with the arguin’ from ya two!” Engineer raises his voice. “Flappin’ ya lips and shootin’ insults at each other is all ya’ll are capable of!”

 

“What are you, our therapist?” Spy sneers, awfully crossed.

 

Engineer throws his hands in the air. “Might as well be, since most of y’all can’t even act like proper grown men!”

 

“What do ye mean, ‘most o’ us’?”

 

“I am grown, and I am a man!”

 

“Shut da hell up Sol, no one wants to hear it!”

 

“You are one to talk, no? You yourself are an insolent, junk-food eating, ungrateful _virgin_ who ees only good at running!”

 

“TAKE DAT BACK YA FUCKING FUCK FUCK-FACE!”

 

“Oi, watch it mate, as much as oi wanna pummel Frenchie’s face, you hafta _calm down -_ ”

 

“ _Excusez-moi_ , Scout, my deepest and most sincere apologies - zat you are zhe absolute worst at giving insults. Oh, and by zhe way Sniper, _shut up._ ”

 

“How about I help _you_ shut your face -”

 

“Stop shouting leetle men, or Heavy vill make you.”

 

“Now, now Scout and Herr Sniper, do not break Herr Spy’s face. I do not haffe zhe proper equipment to give him face surgery if you happen to rearrange it.”

 

“What are you implying, doctor?!”

 

“Mmmph, MMMPH!”

 

“What Pyro said, we all need to calm down and stop screaming at each other!”

 

“I AM NOT SCREAMING!” Screams Soldier.

The mercs continue screaming blindly at each other, what made them so pissed off at each other in the first place lost in their nonsensical rage. Meanwhile Holly sits inside her bathroom, wide-eyed and shaking, listening to the chaos rumbling outside of her locked door. _They’re turning on each other? Maybe I can escape?_ She slaps her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. Nope, and nope, very dumb idea. No windows in the bathroom and the only exit is at least 15 feet away. She didn’t even have her phone!

Taking a deep breath, Holly presses her head against the cool tile walls. What in the world is she going to do? What are the mercs going to do to _her_? Then again, she should have expected this. Just take in a bunch of nine hardened war criminals(?) who have a penchant for murder! What a swell idea!

Gulping, Holly grabs the folds of her skirt. At least Allan was with Mr. Khan...it’s not like the mercs would actually _kill_ her. Right? She has to be right!

 

_One of them pulled a freaking knife on me! THAT IS NOT VERY PROMISING._

 

Holly runs her hand ferverishly through her tangled hair. So knotted, unbrushed, and sticky from sweat. Should she just hop in the shower? She did lock herself inside and all...god, once again, what is she thinking?! _I am seriously being pushed to the edge right now._ She balls up into a corner, hugging her knees and squeezing her eyes shut. The enraged screeches continue to carry through the paper thin walls and door.

 

“SPY YOU MOTHERFUCKING JAMES BOND RIP-OFF, I’LL RIP DAT FUCKING CLOAKING DEVICE ALONG WITH YOUR ARM!”

 

Scout dances wildly, jumping and swinging punches at the air. High, snort-like laughter surrounds Scout, the source of laughter invisible.

 

“Scout, ‘ow did you know mother-fucking was my specialty?”

 

“LEAVE MY MA OUTTA DIS!”

 

_“When there’s trouble you know who to calllllll...TEEN TITANS!”_

 

A merry, 8-bit themed jingle plays in the background of chaos. Pyro is the first one to stop, pausing their activity in choking Soldier with the handle of their axe. They even bobbed their head along to the beat of the music. Meanwhile Soldier is grunting and gasping from their surprisingly heavy weight.

 

“ _From their tower, then can see it aalllllll...TEEN TITANS!”_

 

“Heavy hears music?”

 

“What in tarnation?”

 

“Spy, what da hell, didja bring a radio with you or somethin’?!”

 

“You eembicle, zat music ees not coming from me!”

 

“ _When there’s evil on the attack! You can rest knowing they have your back! ‘Cause when the world…”_

 

The mercs finally cease their bloodthirst, following the source of the music. Engineer is the first one to find it. A rectangular black and shiny shape vibrates on the surface of the table. The surface of the object is white and glassy. Engineer squints at the screen.

 

_Mira Martinez calling…_

 

“My phone.”

They all turn to the new voice, and Holly stands there, gripping a frying pan. Her eyes flitting back and forth, she makes her way through the mercs. Reaching her ‘phone’, she snatches it and puts it to her ear. She keeps her eyes on all of the mercs, frying pan in hand like a lifeline.

 

“Uhmm,” Holly takes a deep breath, wiping her forehead. “H-h-h-hey Mira, w-what’s up?” She pauses for a moment, listening to the flat box - the ‘phone’.

 

Engineer looks a bit closer at the object next to Holly’s ear. It looks like the doohickey really _did_ function as a phone - but it’s designed less bulky and boxy, unlike the ones back at home. Then again, of course the future’s versions of phones would look different! He mentally facepalms himself, remembering this important fact. Mighty lord, Engineer had to investigate the technologies and gadgets of 2012!

Holly tucks the phone in between her ear and shoulder.

 

“I’m fine. Allan’s fine. Yeah, really.”

 

Forgetting any fear, Holly turns her back on the mercs.

 

_Woosh…!_

 

The sound of sharp air subtly underlines Holly’s talking. Sniper and Engineer knew that sound too well.

 

“Not in this house anymore, boy,” Engineer says through gritted teeth, grabbing the de-cloaking Spy. “Let the lady have her peace.

 

“Oof! _Marquez mes mots, je vais tuer vos bibelots_ …”

 

Holly is clueless to the struggle happening amongst the mercs, fully paying attention to what Mira has to say. Her tense shoulders relax from the familiar sound of Mira’s slightly deep but breathy voice through the phone. Her wild heartbeat eases and her throat is not so dry anymore. Holly smiles, breathing out a sigh of relief she really needed to let out. She sways slightly, listening to Mira’s mini-rant about some of the troubles that happened in her art class for today.

 

“- And now I ran out of the special glitter paint I was going to use for the 2nd graders’ art project!” Mira huffs. “Oh, but I blabbered off again didn’t I? My bad, my bad…”

 

“It’s completely fine. I love hearing you talk. Uhm, you know?” Holly sucks a breath in sharply. Why’d she have to say it like _that?_ Made her sound like a weirdo!

 

Mira laughs. “I’m on my way to your place.”

Holly’s face lights up for a second. Her head swivels to the nine intruders; suddenly remembering their presence. _Crap!_ “Wait, my place?! As in right here, right now, walking to my place?”

 

“Yeah, of course! I just wanted to drop off something I whipped up at home. I feel terrible for causing you trouble about Allan. I seriously should have looked closer at the signature! Have to say though, Allan has some impressive penmanship. I’m not encouraging your niece, though. If she gets discovered next time, she’s going to get a detention!”

 

“It’s just that - well, uhm, now’s not a -!”

 

“Think I found your alleyway! I’m heading in! Three knocks on the door, means it’s me!”

 

“Mira, don’t come up!”

 

 _Beep!_ Holly’s shoulders sink dejectedly, when she sees on the screen, ‘ _Call ended.’_ Slowly she turns to the mercs.

 

“In the bathroom. Now.”

* * *

How Spy ended up squashed up against the wall in a bathtub, squeezed in with Sniper and Scout, was _beyond_ him. He would have not complied with the insolent woman’s order, if not for Engineer’s cold glare he sent to all of the mercs and Pyro’s unsaid threats with the empty glass gaze of its mask.

 

“You are standing _right on my foot!_ ”

 

“Excuse fucking me if I can’t make space for your giant ego!”

 

“We’re all tight for space! Well ye laddies get o’long?”

 

For a cubicle-sized somehow the mercs managed to squeeze themselves inside. Pyro is crouched on top of the toilet, Medic is sitting on Heavy’s lap (any judgmental looks from teammates is promptly wiped off from Heavy’s squinted glare), Demoman managed to gag and bound Soldier and is currently sitting on top of him, and Engineer has his ear pressed against the door.

 

_I am a professional espionage, yet I have been reduced to ZHIS._

 

Spy shudders at the thought of the ones who trained him seeing him in such humiliating circumstances.

* * *

Holly glances at the mirror. Her face is still damp from sweat, her bottom lip uncontrollably trembling, and her knees shaking. Okay, okay, okay, she needs to _calm down._ Not letting go of the frying pan, Holly marches up to the door. Three knocks come from the other side.

She puts on a smile she can manage, and twists the knob.

 

“Mira!”

 

“Holly!”

 

A red pot is in Mira’s hands. She is dressed up in a light brown trenchcoat and silky green scarf, practical clothes for a slightly chilly night.

 

“I made some lasagna, and I’d feel disgusting if I ate the entire thing by myself.”

 

“You didn’t have to!” God, Holly hopes her face isn’t too red. “Are you sure the food isn’t fake?”

 

“No, why?”

 

“Because it might be an...impasta.” Holly offers lamely, forcing a laugh. That was not funny. Crap, that wasn’t funny at all!

 

Somehow, Mira finds the humor. She guffaws - ungainly and unrestricted, but all around a genuine reaction. _Okay, so that line wasn’t a complete failure._

 

“Dear God Holly, stop being so modest!” Mira’s expression shifts to curiosity. “Why do you have a frying pan?”

 

“This?” Holly raises the cooking utensil, smiling sheepishly when she realizes it’s still clutched in her right hand. “Just uhhh, cooking? About to cook? Doing typical, responsible, adult things.” Listlessly, Holly, attempts to twirl the heavy thing in her hand. This ultimately fails. Slipping out of her hand, the frying pan lands smack on Mira’s forehead.

 

“AAH!”

 

Mira nearly drops the pot, Holly quick to react for once and grabs it. She sets it on the floor, and turns her attention back to Mira.

 

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, MIRA I AM SO SORRY!”

 

“ _Mi Dios mio...¡Veo estrellas!”_

 

Flailing her arms, Holly spins on her heel.

 

“Crap crap crap, wait wait wait, I can fix this!”

 

Sprinting inside her apartment, Holly flings open her refrigerator door. The door smacks the wall rather loudly. In a frenzy, Holly rummages through the contents of her freezer.

 

“Bag of ice, something cold....uhm, uhm!”

 

Finally she grabs a bag of Green Giant peas (who knows how long it has been in there), and sprints back to the door. Mira is clutching her head, leaning against the frame.

 

“Have a bag of peas! For your head! I am so sorry!”

 

Mira takes it, raising the bag to her temple.

 

“...I am going to go now.” Weakly, she raises a hand. “See you around.”

 

“Are you sure, y-y-you don’t want to stick around? I didn’t bang you up that badly, did I…?”

 

“Just a bruise.” Mira’s eyes flutter, and she swoons momentarily. Holly hisses, hands covering her mouth.

 

“You sure…?”

 

“For sure! Ugh...Night, Holly.”

And Mira hobbles downstairs, pack of frozen peas rested on her injured forehead. Slowly Holly closes the door. She sinks next to the pot of lasagna. She beats her head with fists, resisting the urge to bang her head against the wall. Why does she always mess things up? Especially around Mira? Her face is hotter than ever before. _You done flubbed up, didn’t you Holly?_

Her moping is short-lived, when the bathroom door opens up. A pile containing Engineer, Demoman, and Sniper are all tangled on the floor. The other mercs trail out, a couple looking at Holly funny. How many facepalms did she make today? They must have heard her shouts and yells...Grabbing her only weapon, the trusty frying pan, Holly gets up.

 

“I’m not leaving.”

* * *

Either the woman is just as insane as the rest of them, possess balls of steel, or just plain stupid to stick around with nine trained killers. Sniper watches her carefully from the corner of the studio, chewing his food slowly. The pizza is too soft and chewy for his taste - not as good as spit-roasted leg of coyote over the fire. But he’ll have to take what he can have. Everyone in the apartment sits in their respective spots, in a strangely-shaped circle. Holly is sitting close to the exit, frying pan balanced on her legs.

 

Nobody said anything yet. Each person in the room is eating their fill, equally overwhelmed by the unprecedented events of today.

 

Of course, Soldier breaks the uneasy silence.

 

“Are we having a staring contest?!”

 

Sniper sighs, probably along with the other seven mercs, at Soldier’s blunt stupidity.

 

“Can off it, Sol.” Demo grumbles, shoving a crust of pizza into his mouth.

 

“Why is everyone SO QUIET?”

 

“It was foine that way.” Sniper comments from his corner.

 

“‘Ave you nothing to say, _mademoiselle?_ ” The entire awkward meal, Spy kept his gaze trained on Holly, waiting for her to slip-up. “We deserve to kill you for the misconduct you puts us through.”

 

She stops mid-chew, and gulps.

 

“...There is nothing much to say, y’know, after you sorta threatened me and all.”

 

“Transparent.” Spy declares with an air of superiority. How he could keep up the act of an apathetic and professional espionage, even with the remains of pizza sauce and cheese smeared on his face mask, was a little bit impressive to Sniper. The Frenchman had the worse personality, but he held on to his pride like a mother bear would protect her cubs. “Maybe you are not a threat, afterall?”

 

“One moment you were pointing a knife at my face!” Holly cries out. “And now you’re okay with me? What is this?”

 

“Nobody can be a threat if zhey smacked someone in zhe face by accident.”

 

Red colors her cheeks, and Holly ducks her head.

 

“Back off Spah, have ya no manners?”

 

“A lot, in fact, unlike you lot.”

 

Engineer ignores this jab, while the other mercs send death glares at Spy.

 

“Miss Holly, are ya okay?”

 

“...I guess.” She shifts her position in the chair.

 

“Seems mighty foolish that ya decided to stay in here.”

 

Holly straightens her glasses, and brushes back some loose strands of hair. “I mean, this is a pretty good steal for an apartment.”

Sniper takes a moment to frown and glance around the woman’s home. It’s not in his place to judge anyone (he’s an Australian bushman who lived in a van for most of his adult life), but he wasn’t sure if he could call the apartment a ‘good steal.’ The studio is unfurnished and barren, three dingy lamps are the only sources of light, and the walls are in a poor, peeling condition.

“Okay, so, it’s not the most _impressive_ place. But this is all I have. I can’t exactly run away - because it’s not like I have anywhere to go.” Holly says quickly, seeing the raises of eyebrows and scrunched faces of disgust at the poor conditions. “And I still need some explanation, you guys need some explanation - all around, we’re all fan-freaking confused. So we’re gonna sit here, right now,” Holly takes a deep breath, pointing her finger to the floor. “And talk everything over, like civilized people. Okay? Okay.”

 

She stares at the mercs. They stare back.

 

Holly tilts her head, putting a hand to the back of her neck. “...I know I’m a bit shady to you guys,” She raises both of her palms, leaning back. “But, I want to hear your side of the story, before you hear mine. Because believe me, you’re gonna want to sit down for the things I have to tell you. So…?” Holly raises her chin, straightening her back.

Sniper leans against the wall, adjusting his hat. Even if he didn’t find her to be the most trustworthy at  the moment, Sniper had to give credit where it lies. He himself wouldn’t give up his van to anyone in the world; if he was put in a situation similar to Holly’s.

As for Spy, he sneers at Holly’s simple proposal. But he keeps quiet for a change, and leans back in his chair. Scout widens his eyes, looking at the rest of the team for guidance. Heavy, Demoman, Sniper simply exchange silent, wary glances. Pyro tilts its head, not fully understanding the potential danger. Medic strokes his chin in contemplation. Engineer looks Holly, up and down, analyzing his options. Soldier chomps loudly on a piece of pizza, oblivious.

 

“Alrighty, Miss Holly.” Engineer says first, carefully. “Though I hafta warn ya, our story’s lil’ hard to believe.”

 

“Belief is a weird thing.” Holly responds.

 

“ _Askin’_ someone to believe in somethin’ impossible, is anotha thang.”

 

“I believe in things you guys might think are stupid.” Holly rests a hand on her cheek, turning her face away. “...I believe blood is not always thicker than water. That God is probably just some student who procrastinated on Their project, and created the universe at the last second without adding its proper details and effort. I believe other people can do whatever the heck they fancy, as long it doesn’t hurt anyone. I believe cartoons are not just for kids, please and thank you. I believe there are two types of people in this world: those who actually believe they could categorize people in two types.” She takes a moment to pause, and gives a side-smile. “Asking me to believe, is not a lot.”

Sniper blinks. He loosens up his stiff posture, tilting his ear toward Holly.

 

“Pretty words, no significance.” Spy comments dryly.

 

“Ouch!”

 

“Ignore our rude friend here. That was an interestin’ tangent.”

 

“Ha, I might’ve gotten carried away there. Gist here is, how can you be sure I won’t believe you, if I didn’t hear your side of the story yet?”

 

“Made a mighty fine point.” Engineer rubs his right knuckles, the ungloved one. “Oughta try tellin’ ya. It’s useless tryin’ to act like we’re a ragtag group of normal men - we’re...soldiers. In one way or anotha.”

 

Holly makes no comment, her chin perched on her right hand.

 

“See, us lot come from Australia. From...way back when.” Engineer gesticulates, waving his arms. “To put it bluntly Miss Holly, we’re from the past of 1970.”

 

Sniper wonders what the woman could say to such wild claims.

 

“Okay, if you _are_ soldiers from 1970 Australia,” She says finally, her eyebrows scrunched with either disbelief or astonishment. “How did you end up in the present? Of 2012, and all? In America, no less!”

 

“‘Fraid that’s all I can tell ya.”

 

“If that’s all you’re gonna say, you’re _really_ not gonna like what I have to tell you.”

 

“Can’t be that bad!” Responds Engineer as sincerely as possible, putting up an easygoing smile.

 

Holly twirls the end of her ponytail. “What I know about you guys, is the exact reason why I didn’t want to say anything in the first place.”

 

“Elaborate?” Spy says, sounding interested in something for the first time besides apathy and arrogance.

 

She straightens her glasses again. She lets her legs untucked. She runs her hands through hair for the hundredth time.

 

“Just, uhm...don’t freak out on me. No weapons, no threats, no torture, none of that!” The words fly out in one sentence. “I want to be honest with you guys, but to be honest, I think anyone finding out about something they probably shouldn’t know in the first place would maybe drive them crazy. Just...gah!”

 

“We are capable men, O’Sullivan.”

 

Holly pinches the bridge of her nose.

 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m going to explain what I know in a way where you all can understand and...won’t...freak out!” She shakes her frying pan, emphasizing each word. “Okay, where to start, uhm? I know you guys aren’t really soldiers…”

 

“EXCUSE ME?”

 

“Sol, sit yer crazy bum down!”

 

“You’re mercenaries. From the RED team.”

 

This claim hangs in the air. Holly rushes to the next part of her explanation before anything could be said.

 

“There are nine classes - Offense, Defense, Support. If I remember correctly: Sniper, Spy, Medic for the Support; Heavy, Engineer, and Demoman for Defense, and...Soldier, Scout, and Pyro, under Offense. You fight against the BLU team either to Capture the Point, Steal the Intelligence, or Delivering Payload.” Holly is no longer looking at the mercs, staring desperately at the floor. “What else, what else?”

Sniper frowns deeply at the fact she knew their professional names. So it meant he gave his real name for no reason. Just his surname, but still. A stranger knowing personal information about Sniper is too much for him to bear.

 

“How d’ya know all these things about us?” Sniper demands, speaking up.

 

“Oh, now that part will be even harder to explain - wait, what happened to my computer?” Holly stops mid sentence, her eyes popping when she sees the scraps of what used to be her computer scattered on her desk. Medic and Engineer look away, whistling or grinning. “Okay, wow!” She is gripping a handful of her hair. “Might as well drink my secret stash of wine while you’re at it!”

 

Demoman burps, sheepish.

 

“I...I shouldn’t even bother, should I?”

 

“We get zhe point.” Spy interrupts. “‘Ow do you know such confidential information? I doubt zhe Administrator would be pleased if a civilian knows zhis intel.”

 

“If dat witch is even alive!” Scout chimes in.

 

Holly wiggles back and forth in her seat, like a guilty child.

 

“I don’t have my computer, so I can’t prove anything to you now. You’re going to believe - just for a second - the things I am saying are _true._ See, you guys didn’t... _exactly_...travel through time, like you think. Rather, I think you somehow landed in the...real world. Reality. Uhm, wait wait, bad explanation. Too much like the Matrix. Whew! This is tough to put into words!” Holly puts her hands on either side of her head. “You didn’t travel through time, maybe you’re in another dimension? Because in this world, you’re video game characters.”

 

The drivel Holly poured out, completely flew over all of the mercs heads. She sees their blank looks.

 

“Oh. Right. From the late 1900’s and all. Hummm...okay, video games are like - interactive movies. You guys had movies back then, right?”

 

Some nods.

 

“Okay, so there you go, video games are interactive movies! That’s the best I can explain it. So, in my world - this world, you guys are basically fictional characters from a video game called, _Team Fortress 2._ I happened to own said video game, which is why I know some stuff about you. So there! The truth. Absolute truth, 100%, not making this stuff up, and please don’t kill me.”

 

“C’mon now Miss Holly, don’t be so assumin’.” Engineer says warmly, with a well meaning smile. “Just cause ya told us some questionable information doesn’t mean we hafta kill ya.” He ponders for a moment, putting a hand to his chin. “Yet.”

 

Chair scrapes against wooden floor.

 

“WELP, it was nice chatting!”

 

“Hold your horses, Miss Holly! I was jokin’...prolly. ‘Sides, it’d be incredibly stupid of us if we kill the one person who happens to hold clues about our situation. Isn’t that right, boys?” His goggle-covered gaze falls upon Spy. “We just need to talk ‘bout it among each other, alright?”

He signals the rest of the mercs to group up. Sniper complies, strolling over, however not quite joining the huddle.

 

“We sure she ain’t on drugs or somethin’?” Scout says first, yapping his mouth straight away.

 

“Vell, ve must take zome of the zings she zaid vith ein grain of zalt!”

 

“O’ load of mince is wat’s she’s trying to imply here.”

 

“We are being too soft on zhis, _stranger._ ”

 

“Mmmh, thhhn shhhhm, mmmmmph!”

 

“Give her a break, Spah. She seems to be tellin’ the truth. And if what she says is true, well we can’t exactly wander the streets of a foreign country in’a foreign time, can we? We essentially don’t exist as far as the world is concerned!”

 

“America is not a foreigner!”

 

“Once o’gain Sol, ye heard it’all wrong…”

 

“Cease speaking.” Heavy rumbles. The mercs stop their hushed arguments, and look at the bulking man. When Heavy orders something, _he means it._ Holly sits in her chair, twiddling her fingers. Her eyes flit from her unfinished pizza to the plotting group. It was beyond Sniper why the woman didn’t take the chance to flee. Heavy’s eyes are closed, his face twisted deep in thought. “...Woman iz fine. Heavy rather ve stick vith Miss Sullivan. No point in shouts.” Like Sniper, he is not a man of words. Sniper is secretly impressed - the team never heard Heavy speak so much in one moment.

 

“Lots of things arre konfusing. Not sure if I kan understand properly. Ve must trust Sullivan, temporarily.”

 

Finished, Heavy sinks back to the floor. He nods to himself, satisfied with what he delivered was essentially a speech to his teammates.

 

“There ya go. Heavy said our ultimate decision.” Engineer lightly pats Heavy’s shoulder, flashing a glad smile. Heavy grunts in response. The Russian may not think he had an eloquent way with words, but the message was well conveyed. Sniper nods with approval. Maybe the rest of teammates would never care to admit it outloud for the sake of pride, but more or less, they looked to Heavy for a push in a group decision. The man had ridiculously genuine thoughts; untainted by prejudice.

 

“Right then. Miss Holly, we’ll believe ya.”

 

A half eaten crust tumbles out of her mouth.

 

“Waff? Rweally?”

 

“For now. We’re all mighty tired, ain’t no point cryin’ over spilled milk. Tomorrow, we start properly investigatin’ this mess. But mind ya, missy,” The Southerner takes a moment from his monologue, wagging his finger. “You’re gonna have to prove your claims at one point. Cause’ nonetheless, what ya told us is still a bit too much to swallow.”

 

“Y-y-yeah!” Holly swallows the food in her mouth, taking a swig of her water bottle. “I still don’t get one thing...how could you guys possibly land in my apartment?”

Engineer shuffles his feet, wanting to dodge this question as much as possible. Then again, Miss Holly appeared to be a perfectly normal civilian, who happened to get unfortunately caught up in the RED team’s problems. Somebody like her couldn’t replicate the complex technologies of Respawn.

 

“It has somethin’ to do with a machine I made. The boys and I use it in battle. Think ya can name it, if ya really know what’s up?” Engineer asks testily, resting his elbows on his knees.

 

“Machine?” Holly frowns scratching the back of her ear. “You mean...respawn?”

 

“Heh, so maybe you’re not spoutin’ bullcrap ofta top of your head. Pardon the crude language. Us mercs died in battle, Respawn took us here - where or whenever ‘here’ is.”

 

“Sounds complicated. I’m going to safely assume it doesn’t usually do that?”

 

“Wasn’t a time or dimension machine last time I checked.”

 

“Definitely weird.”

Sighing, she stands up, and brushes crumbs off her clothes. “Welp, from this point forward, you’re technically my responsibility. I can’t help you with the Respawn technology or figure out how you guys ended up in my apartment of all places - but I’ll let you stay. To society, you guys don’t exist as ‘real’ people. Can’t exactly have a bunch of war-hardened men wandering around...” She pinches her cheek, wrapping her mind around the new situation presented before her. Holly looks the mercs up and down.

 

“...Mr. Khan might have some spare clothes. I hope.” She says under her breath. Heading to the door, Holly says over her shoulder, “By the way, water turns off after 10 pm. If you guys want to take a shower, now’s the time to do it. I’m going to head downstairs to check on Allan and find some spare clothes for you guys.” With the door shutting, she is gone.

 

_Click!_ The sound of another door locks.

 

“Wait justa’ sec, who’s in the bathroom…?”

 

“Spy, no fucking fair! You can’t just take da water!”

 

“ _I can and will!_ ”

 

“The snake takes forever with washing himself…” Demoman laments, reclining on the floor.

Sniper rubs his knees, sitting criss cross on the floor. No need for him to take a shower. Last one was...a week ago? Sniper should be good for a few more days. Strangely enough, the issue of body odor has never been a problem for him. His mind wanders over to his van, the RED base, and the freezing temperatures of the Australian nights...heh, is he missing home already?

He tips his hat over his eyes, a signal to the others to be left alone. They knew, well enough. Not one to voice his opinion outloud, Sniper knows he hates being thrown into an unplanned inconvenience - not part of the plan. But, this is the life he signed up for. No need to complain and mope about it. _Always come up with a plan, and be professional._

* * *

 

A BLU Pyro falls to the floor, gurgling on its own blood. One less body to worry about.

A disguised Miss Pauling steps carefully over the corpse, speed-walking towards her chance of escape. So close, yet so far! In a few minutes, she’ll be home free! Eagerly she gathers up her purse, stepping into the dark hallway leading to the hatch…

 

_Click!_ Goes the cock of a revolver.

 

Well, shit. Miss Pauling stops in her tracks, frozen.

 

“Care to tell me where you are heading, Engineer?” Another shadow looms down the hallway. “But we both know zat is a lie.”

 

“Spy-013.” She greets, voice steady.

 

“Spy ees how you will refer to me.”

 

“Still lying to yourself?”

 

She can’t see him, but it’s obvious he is disturbed, from the shakiness in his breath and the painful hesitance. He’s a bit more transparent with his feelings, unlike his RED counterpart. Makes the job easier, to deal with him. No need to put up the act anymore. She clicks the button on the disguise watch, and a red light washes over her.

 

“So you are not a RED. Not a BLU either. My suspicions are confirmed.”

 

“Quick to think, you Spies.”

 

“Hand over zhe briefcase, and come with me, quietly. I would prefer to not get my suit too dirty from your blood splatters.” BLU Spy clicks his gun once again, to show his point. “Hands in zhe air.”

 

Put her hands in the air, she will. Whipping out a pistol from her purse, Miss Pauling spins on her heel and pulls the trigger.

 

“ _Merde!_ ” BLU Spy cries out, staggering backwards.

Miss Pauling charges Spy, roundhouse kicking him square in the chest; high heel intact. He stumbles on the floor, splashing his pool of blood. His revolver skids across the floor, the Spy now weaponless. She pushes the point of her heel into a sensitive area of the cavity. He squirms and chokes, completely caught off guard. Miss Pauling twists her mouth, shaking her head.

 

She was about to pull the trigger, when BLU Spy regained his senses.

 

He sweeps his left leg underneath Miss Pauling’s right foot. Yelping, she barrel rolls across the floor, quick to position herself back on her knees. Her pistol too, skids across the other side of the room. At least they’re both weaponless? Miss Pauling’s hope are dashed. Spy’s right hand flips out a butterfly knife, its metal blade shining in the dim light. Okay, so he wanted to play that way!

Clutching her purse, Miss Pauling stands her ground.

Looking dead each other in the eyes, the two circle each other. Calculations run through Miss Pauling’s head at the speed of light. How to deal with BLU-Spy-013? He’s always been a thorn in the Administrator’s side...but she said no word to dispose him. Why’s that? Maybe Miss Pauling shouldn’t kill him, but apprehend him. She closes her hand around the pocket knife in her pocket. Straight for the kidneys, she should take a stab at. Literally.

 

Feigning foolishness, Miss Pauling turns around, as if to reach for her gun. Of course, BLU Spy seizes this slip up, and puts his blade to her throat.

 

“Now, zat was quite stupid.”

 

“For sure!” She slowly raises her right hand. “What do you need from me?”

 

“Zat ees not stupid on your part, surrendering - AAGHH!”

 

Her left hand lodges the pocketknife into the flesh of his leg. His grip loosens, Miss Pauling breaks free. Metal slashes the side of her cheek and ear.

BLU Spy is on his knees, struggling to take out the knife. Not smart. She takes the pen tucking her bun, uncapping it to reveal a hidden blade. Raising it, she plunges it into Spy’s exposed back. Who’s doing the backstabbing now? A chuckle nearly escapes her. RED Spy would be so proud of that taunt.

This time, BLU Spy lets out a scream. A real, prolonged scream, something an animal would make when shot down. This stuns Miss Pauling, a few seconds before she starts running. Spy-013 raises his head, his eyes - his eyes flash an unnatural, sickly yellow. She gasps, losing composure. _Wow, that is definitely not normal!_

 

Getting over herself, she flies for the door, the Intel safe in her purse.

 

Spy moans and snarls at the same time, attempting to drag himself after the thief. A parade of footsteps pound behind him.

 

“Spah? What in tarnation happened here?!”

 

“Thief! Get...Intel!” He gasps through wet, bloody coughs. “ _Dieu au-dessus, aide-moi_ …”

 

“You heard the man! Move out! And somebody, bring him to a Medic!”

 

His vision is ebbing, a whirlpool of black and hot white pain. The wound in his back - oh merde, the thief stabbed him somewhere she shouldn’t have. It pulsates underneath his skin, awakened. God, it was supposed to be gone, the unnatural _things_ growing inside him -!

 

“Yo, what da fuck is wrong wit’ his eyes?!”

 

His world becomes black.

* * *

The world outside is black. Holly stares mindlessly outside of the tiny window of the stairwell. No lampposts light their orange aura in the cramped alley of her apartment. The other take-out restaurants squeezed into the alley are closing down. Metal gates block the entrances, looking like a jail. She stands there, leaning her head backwards to the ceiling.

 

...Was she insane? Honest-to-God, was she going insane?  


Feeling stupid, Holly pinches her cheek. One part of her hopes this entire mess was a dream. The other part quietly hopes it wasn’t. All she is left with is dull ache. Of course this wasn’t a dream. Just weird, confusing, and chaotic reality.

_Is a smart thing to take them in? Nine men into my house?_ Holly slowly goes downstairs, running her hand along the cold metal railings.  _On one hand, they’re not strangers; but on the other hand, they are definitely not normal. How am I going to pay for all of them? They need food and clothes, on top of me taking care of Allan!_ Her mind is reeling from the costs stacking on top of each other. She might as well dug herself a financial grave.

 

_But they’re from a video game! Team Fortress 2! How exciting is that?! Even if they did threatened to kill you._

 

Not wanting to be left alone with her thoughts, Holly rings the doorbell to Mr. Khan’s. A faint scent of cinnamon radiates from behind the door. Holly glances at her wristwatch. Only 8:51 p.m. This entire night is dragging out. _Allan’s probably in bed by now. I hope so. Thank god the studio is roomy._

 

_“Coming!”_

 

Footsteps pound towards the door.

The door opens, revealing a stocky woman dressed in a formal outfit consisting of a dark red tie and a light blue button-up long sleeved shirt. Her dark brown hair streaked with gray is pulled into a tight and neat bun, not a hair out of place. A perfect red dot is painted on Amita’s forehead, the _bindi._ Upon seeing Holly, dimples appear at her wrinkled cheeks.

 

“Ah! Holly! Looking for Allan?”

 

“Oh! Amita!” Unlike Mr. Khan, Holly doesn’t refer to Amita by her last name. Calling Mr. Khan simply stuck with Holly, the habit carrying from high school. “Sort of. Would you...would you mind if she sleeps over tonight?” Warmth travels to Holly’s cheeks. Asking people for favors isn’t the easiest thing. “I have a lot of guests staying over tonight, so there’s no room for Allan-”

 

“Holly, there is no need for explanation! Allan is easy to take care of. Besides, the little rascal is sleeping in the guest bedroom already. I doubt she’d have a happening awakening if we interrupt it.”

 

Holly sighs with relief.

 

“Thank you so much, you have no idea.”

 

“No need for the formalities! My dear, you look so worn out!”

 

“In one way or another.” Holly laughs it off, entering the apartment. Cinnamon smells stronger than ever, spicy and cool. “Amita, does Mr. Khan happen to have any spare clothing? Plus toothbrushes? I promise I’ll pay it back.”

 

Amita puts her hands on her hips, pursing her mouth. “Holly, we talked about this. Who says you ever need to pay back anyone?”

 

“I don’t want to be any trouble…”

 

“You are not a trouble!” Amita waves her hand. “A young woman taking care of a child is hard work as it is. Which is why I don’t have any!” She winks. “Now, as for spares, Mahadev bought a lot of T-Shirts that weren’t his size. Silly, silly man! Then again, I don’t do the shopping around here…” Amita disappears into another doorway. “Take a seat!”

Holly sits down on a velvet armchair, the cushion indented from years of sitting. She always liked visiting the Khans’ apartment. Warm, homey, and inviting. Childishly she liked staring at the grandfather clock, waiting until the cuckoo bird peeks its head out and sings a merry jingle. Unlike the bland walls are her apartment, the walls in the Khans’ is painted red and covered with post-it notes scribbled with reminders, Indian posters, and photos. There’s always something cooking in the background, whether it be curry or cinnamon cookies.

_Maybe I should buy furniture? My apartment is nearly empty...and I guess I saved up enough money. When in doubt, I should use credit._

 

“Early from work, Amita?”

 

“Oh?” The older woman’s voice is faraway, though her usually loud and gruff voice carries through the hallway. “Yep! Just came back half an hour ago! Thankfully, work was slow. Working on a case where some guy is going around and vandalizing property. A nice change of pace from the usual cases I get.” Amita comes back inside the living room, a pile of clothes gathered in her arms. “I threw in a couple of boxers that were too small for Mahadev. The man doesn’t even know how to do his own laundry - I swear he is shrinking everything!”

 

Holly scoops the load off her arms. “Thanks! This is just what I needed!”

 

“Who are the visitors? Think I could meet them?”

 

“Visitors?” Holly takes a huge swallow. “Uhm, they’re pretty tired right now. From travelling and all. Probably have a bad case of jetlag.” _Will they have jetlag, though? They’re from Australia, not to mention, the late 1900s!_

Amita gives a cheeky smile, putting a hand on her hip. “Ah for pity, the curse of jetlag. I remember that all too well, when Mav and I moved from Mumbai. We couldn’t get over it for a few months!” She chuckles at the memories of she and her husband’s struggle to overcome the time differences. “My advice to your guests? Don’t take sleeping pills. Along with jacking up your internal clock, you’re gonna become dependent on those things.”

 

“I’ll remember that! By the way, where’s Mr. Khan?”

 

“Hm, Mav? He’s holed up in his study room, on the phone with a colleague. It’ll be a _looong_ time till’ he sees the light of day.” She rolls her eyes, settling herself in a lumpy leather seat. “So, tell me about you Holly! You’ve been running around back and forth for two weeks! You didn’t even pop in for some of homemade goods!”

 

“About that...uhm, my boss is kind of hinting at a promotion? She’s really vague about it. So I’ve been pulling a bunch of all nighters into editing next month’s issue, along with drawing the comics for the magazine. I seriously need to be promoted.” Holly cringes internally, remembering the unfortunate fact her personal computer got wrecked. How was she going to tell her boss? Thank god she saved the edits before her computer was totaled. “I’m not sure, though. I’m competing against some competition.” She wrinkles her nose, remembering Giana her ‘friend’ at work. At this point, Holly wasn’t quite sure what to label their relationship.

 

“Good, good. Hardwork pays off.” Amita nods her head, showing approval. “I remember when I was younger, trying to work at the NYPD - they made me a meter maid. A meter maid for Vishnu’s sake! I was boiling the first few months, because all I wanted was to get to the good stuff.” She clicks her teeth. “You’re a studious woman, Holly. I’m sure you’ll get the promotion.”

 

“Can’t raise my hopes.” She shrugs, trying to not care.

 

“But you can’t expect the worse for yourself as well.” Counters Amita, pointing her finger to the ceiling. “It’s getting just about late for me. I have to get up quite early tomorrow - gotta show some rookies at the department the ropes.” She gets up from her seat, giving Holly a side-hug. Holly smiles, returning the hug. It was rare for Amita to outwardly express affection, even with her husband. Never has Holly seen in her four years of knowing the Khan couple them hugging or even kissing each other.

 

“Once again, thanks for the help. Really, I mean it.”

 

“Anything to appease the burden, my dear. You’re gonna pull the weight, you hear?”

 

_I don’t think I can keep that promise, since I’m going to have to deal with new nine roommates. It’s going to be one heck of a long week..._

* * *

BLU Spy sits on the edge of the exam table, wheezing in pain. Gauze was hastily wrapped around his shoulder wound. Blood soaks the bandages already, painting it completely red.

Did he even have the strength to get up? Spy had no intentions sticking around the Medic’s office. Blood splatters the tile floor, an unpleasant scent of chemicals and corpse contaminates the air, and the bright white lights hurt Spy’s eyes. But the mere thought of getting up already made him instantly dizzy. His lanky body is curled into a fetal position. Clothes are still damp with sticky blood. Spy winces, biting the inside of his cheek. His sharpened teeth cut easily through the flesh of his cheek and gums. Coppery-iron coats his tongue.

Spy takes a quick look at his hands - _merde_ , they were horrendous. His nails darkened into black, growing into an alarmingly claw like shape. Scales develop on his skin, dry and rough to the touch. What in the hell happened to him? What triggered in his body to undergo such... _monstrous_ alterations? He trembles, considering one of the possibilities. Spy flexes his fingers, experimentally, panting.

Medic...no, Medic wouldn’t. He wouldn’t transplant - it’s unethical! Then again, when did any of the Medics consider ethics into their insane experiments?

 

Oh, and his _back._ That was the worse pain of all.

 

Spy’s daggers for teeth come clamping down on his tongue, a pathetic attempt to hold back a whimper. He squeezes tighter into his defensive position, moaning. Something _moves_ inside his back, threatening to burst out of him. It is slithering, it is parasitic, it _doesn’t belong in his body._ Thick blood bubbles out of the wound his attacker made. Heh, and _he_ was supposed to do the backstabbing. His attacker _had_ to stab him in one of the worse places - the strange bruises that appeared on his back a couple of weeks ago...

 

Something is writhing, straining to get out, however not strong or big enough to completely rip through Spy’s skin.

 

“Greetings, Herr Spy!” The cheery, German-thick accented voice rings out.

 

Startled, Spy shoots upwards. He couldn’t stop the whimper of pain escaping his mouth this time.

 

“Dear oh dear, vhat has happened!” Medic squints closely at Spy, briskly walking up to him. He jerks his right hand to his bespectacled gaze, scrutinizing them. A bright light shines in Spy’s right eye, from Medic’s portable flashlight. Spy flinches under the rude presence. Medic takes Spy’s bottom lip between two fingers, and lowers it. “Interesting, interesting developments…!”

 

Spy smacks BLU Medic’s touchy-hands away.

 

“Get your ‘ands off me!” He hisses through his fangs.

 

Medic however, is already walking away, opening multiple drawers. He is muttering a mixture of German and English above his breath, too fast for Spy to make out. White hot pain pulses from Spy’s wound, and his eyes water.

 

“What in zhe world ees ‘appening to me?”

 

“Zoze bruizes you showed to me - ein couble of veeks ago, correct? I must examine zem!”

The blue merc’s right eye twitches. “What do my bruises have to do with anything? In fact, Doctor, I feel like the body transplant is a huge factor in my...terrible developments.” He casts a swift look of disgust at his claws for hands.

“Ja, ja, you are correct!” Medic spins on his heel, carrying a box of syringes, glass tubes, and metal tools for surgery. “You see mein friend, I may or may not haffe not been truthful about the procetures of your transplant…”

 

“What do you mean?” Spy’s fury bubbles with his pain. “What did you _do to me?_ ”

 

“The body - your transplant - you see, orkanic matter do not come along eazily! Vith kidneys, lungs, ein a beating heart - ein lot of unnecessary baggage!”

 

“ _Unnecessary_?”

 

“And you as you know, finding DNA matches is nearly imbozible, unless ve haben to steal orkans from RED Sby or make another clone! But the Voice does not condone zuch aczions, zo I had to rezort to other drasdic meazures! Excuse me!” Spy yelps, resisting the urge to tear his arm away, when Medic stabs a syringe into one of his veins. He winces and glares at Medic, as the empty cylinder is filled up with blood. “Ach, vunderbar! I must get zhose sent to zhe analysis lab, once I’m done with you!” Carelessly, he places the vial of blood inside a nearby refrigerator.

 

Spy shudders to himself, remembering his claustrophobic experience being trapped inside RED Medic’s fridge...for days, weeks on end.

Shaking this memory, Spy regains himself. “I need an explanation, doctor.” Spy says slowly. His sharpened rows of teeth grind against each other, unnatural. His new claws nearly puncture the palms of his hands, his hands balled up too tightly into fists. He is tired, hurt, and soaked in his own blood. What godforsaken experiment did he end up in, thanks to a Medic once again?

 

“An explanation vill come in due time, Herr Spy. Ve must vait for the resultz in three days time.”

 

“Three days?!” Cries out BLU Spy. He raises his claws, and bares his teeth. “You want me to walk around the base _looking like zhis?!_ ”

 

“No vorries. I vill vrite you up ein excuze note, and tell the rest of the team to not vorry you.”

 

“We both know zhey do not care for me. I do not even know why you pretend…”

Medic hums, with a perky smile, Spy’s dark comment falling on deaf ears. It never fails to disturb Spy how much Medic takes in stride the gore and chaos he must deal with on a daily basis. Then again, the German doctor was not quite sane in the first place. “Undil zen, you must stay inzide your room! Ve do not vant to...let the dog out of the bag? Is zat hov Americans zay it? Ach, no matter! Zhere is medicine to be practiced! Lie down, lie down!”

Soon, Spy finds himself under the receiving beams of the Medigun. He sharply sighs in relief, his wounds healing over thanks to the advanced technology of Medic’s gun. The ache still lies where the wounds once existed - and the writhing disturbances underneath the skin of Spy’s back did not case - but at least there was one discomfort taken away. Spy sits up, ignoring the insistent aching shooting through his body. He glares at his monstrous hands, eyeing Medic.

 

“...You _will_ fix zhis.”

 

“Oh, mein freund! Vhy vould you _ever_ doubt me?” Medic smiles, as if reassuring.

* * *

**_LOCATION- XXXXX, XXXXX_ **

**_TIME - 13:08 p.m._ **

Hundreds of flashing screens play at once. Each screen is displaying its own story, tragedy, and miracle. Wherever the surveillance cameras are placed in each location, there is at least one is each part of the world. The room is dark, and mostly empty. Save for a single, grand, rolling armchair seated in front of the screens. Smoke trails above the chair, wisps of violent clouds. From the backview of the grand chair, only a single wrinkled and feminine hand impatiently drumming the handle can be seen.

 

“What do you mean, _mistake?_ ”

 

A cold, unfeeling voice, belonging to a woman beyond the age of ninety, asks piercingly.

 

“There is no room for _mistakes_ , Mister Shiva. We mutually participated in this rather reckless experiment.”

 

…

 

“You honestly expect me to believe that a random stranger managed to gain these group of hooligans’ _trust!_ My humor dried out half a century ago _Mister Shiva._ I demand you take control of the situation.”

 

…

 

“And here, I thought I was working with a group of professionals. No matter. Fine. Observe them. I am a patient woman, but I will not be so charitable with another mistake in the future.”

 

A phone slams back in its receiver.

 

There is an underground facility, located in _XXXXX_. It is a network of winded hallways; some leading to nowhere, others where someone can easily get lost in, some leading to death traps, some leading to secrets not meant to be known, and some containing horrors that should never see the light of day. In the heart of the twisted base, is the World Wide Surveillancing Room. Those who work in Facility XXXXX are unaware who works inside said room - nobody ever comes out, or comes in. Through a string of superiors, it is lost to the workers who or what is exactly in the Room…

 

Except for Miss Pauling, top Head Secretary of the Facility.

 

Typing various codes through locked doors, eye scans for the codes, and voice recognitions for security to allow her to enter, Miss Pauling finally makes it to the WWSR.

 

“Ma’am, I’ve successfully infiltrated RED Base and stole back their Intel.” Miss Pauling automatically says, entering the dimly lighted room. Her posture straightens more than usual, she keeps her eyes locked straight ahead, and her voice absolutely cool. Flashing screens are the only source of light in the room, illuminating a dull presence. A gigantic leather chair is in front of the screens.

 

“A messy execution.”

 

Miss Pauling wilts, bowing her head.

 

“Clean and efficient kills, I will bother to acknowledge.”

 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

 

“Place the Intel where you are standing. Rearrange schedule with Sector 54. Cancel the international meeting between the Minister of Russia and Prince of Britain. Fulfill those errands, and you’re done for today, Miss Pauling.”

Miss Pauling obeys, placing her purse on the floor. She stands back up, straight, and clasps her hands behind her back. She says nothing, indicating whether she left the room or not.

 

“You don't usually waste my time.”

 

“The RED team hasn’t returned from Respawn.”

 

The Administrator does not answer. Her chair revolves, and she is completely facing Miss Pauling. The Head Secretary resists the urge to smile or turn away from her boss’s steel gaze. Keep her chin up and her expression confident. Weakness is not allowed.

 

“I should have not underestimated you. You are allowed two questions.” The Administrator drawls, taking a drag of her cigarette.

 

Miss Pauling doesn’t miss a beat.

 

“Ma’am, where is the RED team located now?”

 

“Another world. An alternate reality, if you please. Last question.”

Miss Pauling nods, taking note of this. It wouldn’t hurt if she investigated the whereabouts of the RED team, right?

 

“What are you going to do about...him? Gray Mann?”

 

Finally, some form of expression curls onto the Administrator’s face. It was supposed to be a smile. Supposed to. Too robotic and unfeeling, the woman’s eyes two beady voids of emptiness.

 

“Miss Pauling, now, don’t be so eager for next week’s set of errands.”

 

Knowing this is all the Administrator cared to tell her, Miss Pauling bows her head once again.

 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOT DAMN IN A GARBAGE CAN! This was a LONG chapter. I mean, nearly forty pages type of long. Many apologies for a month long update. As much as I would like to predict when I can update next chapter, I’m afraid I cannot. Like I mentioned in earlier chapters, I am attending boarding highschool - basically college PG-14. My schedule is tight and hectic, and it is difficult finding time for fanfiction. But I will try not to give up!
> 
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> 
> From this point forward, guys, check my fanfictions profile for updates and news on my life (that somehow affect my fanfiction schedule.) It’s the only way I can communicate with all of you readers - without probably breaking the rules.
> 
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> So, Holly is officially caught up in the Respawn mess with the mercs. Can she handle the feat of mercenaries becoming her new roommates? (Probably not) Will she try? Hell yeah! (And probably get traumatized in the process! My poor child.) A lot is happening in the background of the TF2 verse, a bigger picture. What’s up with BLU Spy? How is the Administrator behind this? Why am I asking so many questions? It is a true mystery.

**Author's Note:**

> Time for TF2 shenanegains to occur...Anyways, some notes. I headcanon that the world of TF2 takes place in Australia, somewhere around the late 1900's. Plus, I also headcanon that the BLU team are simply clones of the RED team thanks to the Administrator's technology. Sorry that not a lot of the TF2 characters did not speak much in this chapter, aside from mostly Engineer and Spy. I promise that in future chapters, the rest of the cast will get their spotlight. This will be a fun fanfic to write!


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